Of Lavender, Roses, and Freesia
by InTheLovelyDarkness
Summary: Bella is a slave at an auction that Edward Cullen is attending. When he ends up buying her, romance unfolds in front of them as Bella tries to decipher the secret he and his family is keeping so well. Rated M for later chapters. On Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

**Of Lavendar, Roses, and Freesia Chapter 1**

**Bella**

I glared at the shackles fastened painfully tight around the skin of my wrists and and around my ankles. Once again, I was on auction. It seemed I was on auction so much oftener now. I think the periods of time between each auction had begun to pass in a monotonous haze when I stopped caring. Every slave master or keeper, take you pick, that had ever bought me had beat me in the past and would continue to until I eventually died. And they had and would continue to be every slave, or "indentured servant". I scoffed at the name. We were not servants; they got actual sleeping quarters, clean clothes, and breaks. They were even allowed to sleep for a good 6 hours. No, we were slaves, lower than even dogs in society. We would and always will be, unless and until some old, tired slave master took pity on us and set us free--and since that had never happened before, we all knew it wouldn't now.

I knew that everything would be the same as I was pushed on the old, creak stage that's boards were so old and rotted that there were hols scattered about where boards had fallen away. I kept my eyes on those holes now, letting my hair fall to cover my face. Shouting and jeering were shot from the mouths of the bidders as I embarked the stage. It didn't disturb me anymore. I hated it all, but I had endured it so many times that I barely listened to the auctioneer as he called out my information. It was the same as always: Isabella Swan, female, 17 years old, indentured servant. I laughed inwardly at the last two words. I was not an indentured servant. No, I was a slave. Most people would have told you that slaves were black people, but they would be wrong. White people as well as black were made slaves by the harsh world, where money determined everything and even made families subject to the tragedy of selling a child to slavery to keep food in their mouth, if not a roof over their own heads. I would know. This was why my mother had given me up. But, that was not the only reason. No, there had been something else we were both afraid of . . .

I refused to remember more of the painful memories, focusing intently on the bid for me, wanting to forget I had ever thought about my nother and my life before the fall into slavery. As far as I could tell, the bid had only just started.

"$250!" One man bid. Others shouted and cheered mockingly at the low price.

"$400!" And so it began.

"$650!"

"$800!" Everyone, including myself, though that this would be the last bid. We were soon proved wrong, because not five seconds later a clear, velvety voice that was calmer than the others and made me feel happy in a way that I didn't understand rang out.

"$1,000!" Everyone turned to face the owner of the voice, shocked at the high bid. I craned my neck to try and see who it belonged to, but I only saw a mass of bronze hair where the stares centered. The bid would've been normal, had I been considered "superior". But I was not, and so it was way high--way too high. I could only assume that he was one of those rare young white men who came and bought a female slave for a ridiculously high price only to use her for their own selfish acts. Fury boiled up inside me. I was still a virgin--despite a few of my previous slave masters' attempts to take that. And if he thought I was losing my well-kept virginity to him, he had another thing coming. I had never been good at fighting, but I had a good, loud scream and wasn't afraid to use it if I needed to--and I had a suspicion (later proved wrong) that I would have to in the near future. The nasal voice of the auctioneer brought me back to earth.

"Do I hear a $ 1,050?" Silence.

"Going once!" Nothing. A few murmurs, but no one stepped forward or spoke up.

"Going twice!" Last chance. No one was willing to bid that high, because they were all silent and still, some eyes disappointed, some eyes mocking.

"Sold! The young man in the back, come recieve your sl--er, indentured servant." And so I was pushed off the stage, causing me to trip and fall flat on my face. Loud guffaws erupted, and even more hoots emited from the crowd as they saw me trying to get up. It was very hard, because both my hands and feet were shackled. I finally managed to use to my elbows to push myself up to a kneeling position, then stood up very slowly. By now, my face, hair and dress were filthy. I blushed, not immune to my clumsiness despite having it since I was born, and hurried to the back to meet my new master. The walk was short but embarrassing, and my only solace was that I would soon be away from the staring and snickering and would have a chance to calm my abashment. If my master hesitated in beating me--clumsiness was something that most beatings were the cause of. I suppose I would've been more indifferent, had it not that I was always tripping and stumbling over air and that I was always cause of laughter somewhere. Despite my obvious lack of interest in my slave life, insecurity was something I had suffered for quite a long time and couldn't rest a blind eye on. When I finally arrived at the man I was sure to be my new master, my legs almost gave way under me.

He was beyond handsome--there were barely any words. I traced the features of his face with my eyes, peeking up at him only slightly through my curtain of hair; pale skin, square jaw strong chin, full lips, a nose that seemed to have a slight crook in it if you looked at it sideways but still fit his face perfectly, and the most beautiful colored, warm topaz eyes, all topped with dark, messy bronze hair--the same that I had seen from the stage. His eyes were calculating, his lips a hard, straight line, and I felt my spirits drop in sudden, unusual panic that I'd never felt before, even when I had cared.

**Edward**

I was at the auction to buy a male servant to work in Esme's gardens. That is what I had been searching for originally, and I had my eyes set on a young, sturdy looking young man near 5th place in the line of "indentured servants" ,as the general public liked to call them, but they who referred to themselves as no more than slaves. It disturbed me greatly to see such young, vulnerable, surely innocent people faced with such a twisted fate and treated so horribly by their own compatible equals--which was why I was glad that Carlisle had chosen for us to use our wealth and well-off life to help others. It did make me feel like less of a monster, to rescue people from their horrible fates, though I also knew I was no more human than the people treating the children like dogs were.

It had all been planned out and set in my mind, until _she_ stepped on stage. All of a sudden, I was absorbed in her. Wr seemed to be the only girl and man in the entire universe. I stared intently at her, noticing her limp, shackled hands and torn dress; her pale, dirty skin and slumped shoulders; the way she seemed recoiling in herself, as if she were about to get hit any moment and also the way she seemed perfectly still and calm, as if she did not care; the way her long mahogany hair covered her face. I wanted to see her face, to be able to remind myself that she was another human girl and that I was here to get a _male_ servant--a male servant is what I should be focused on. But I could not deter my thoughts, could not look away. And, the thoughts of the people around me also watching her did not help one bit.

_She'll make a good pet, _ one man was thinking, and I wanted to tear his infested, disgusting head off at the thoughts that circulated in it next. I found that many of the mens' thoughts were the same, besides a few that wanted only to buy her for abusive reasons. I growled, and as soon as the auctioneer called out her information and started the bid, I knew that I had to have her. I would have to buy her, there was no other possible way I would be able to leave her without her peacefully. I _would_ outbid all the other sick, cruel men here and bring her home, where she would be safe, or so help me I would snatch her from anyone else that got her, anything to save her. She was so suddenly precious, so indescribably vital to me. Understanding of why this was did not reach my mind, nor did I search for it. Instead, I focused on the girl and the auctioneer.

"Isabella Swan, female, 17 years old, indentured servant!" He called. I could see the girls shoulders shake infinitesimally as if she were laughing. I could imagine she was, it was likely she considered herself no more a servant or equal as any other person in that line did. I tried to see in to her mind, but was met with nothing but emptiness and promptly shrugged it off as the distance between us and her unfamiliarness to me blocking my power temporarily. It was a problem I recieved every now and then, and I knew it'd probably clear up when the distance was relieved and I heard her voice. I couldn't help noticing the "when" in that sentence, and knew I had begun to plan that she would soon be living in the same house at me without my own permission. I almost questioned myself, but wrenched my focus back to the bidding, which was now at $800. I knew based on the thoughts of everyone around me that they believed that to be the highest bid, and before the auctioneer had a chance to speak I called out, in as clear and calm a voice as I could manage, a bid of $1,000 dollars. I knew no one would go higher. Maybe they would've, had Bella been labeled as a "superior", but she had not been and I used this to my advantage.

"Do I hear a $1,050?" The auctioneer called, doing his job despite his slightly flustered thoughts.

_Damn that guy must have a ton of money if he's willing to waste that much on her--she's not even a superior! Her old master seemed to be glad to be rid of her! I feel sorry for him . . . _ I stopped listening at that point, irritated at the small man's assumptions. Of course, I was interested in the second and the first was true (pertaining to money that I did not feel was wasted) , but I ignored the third and any other of his thoughts after that. All that mattered was her--maybe, if I could just get her home soon and then know she was safe, I would be able to put my thoughts together again. I would have a hell of a lot to explain, though. Rosalie would be. . .well, she would be her normally self-absorbed self, Esme would question the reason I'd gotten a female instead of a male as planned but would graciously allow Bella to stay, Carlisle would be accepting, Emmett would just find some way to tease me, Jasper would question my emotions, and Alice would be excited to have a new friend and someone to dress up. Maybe she had seen this; her thoughts had been suspiciously focused on the market and clothes for the past few days, ever since Esme asked me to go and get another male servant for gardening. I would definitely be asking Alice about that. The loud sound of the auctioneer's voice pulled me out of my thoughts (it seemed I was thinking so much more now that I had seen Isabella [I now focused on calling her by her given name, I did not want to be so ungentlemanlike as to refer to her as "she" or "the girl", even if these were my thoughts])

"Going once!"

"Going twice!"

"Sold! To the young man in the back, come recieve your sl--er, indentured servant!" I was abotu to step forward when I heard laughing and snickering erupting from the crowd, seeming to increase only seconds later. I shifted, trying to see what had been the cause. Pity for Isabella, currently flailing around on ground, trying to get up (I read in a mans' mind near the front that she had been pushed off the stage and had tripped) and failing miserably because her hands and feet were shackled together (I would have to remember to get those unfastened as soon as I could) and then anger for the laughing crowd erupted. I wanted so badly to kill each one of them who were laughing at Isabella, but I did not know why--why I felt so protective of her, why I felt so angry that she was being laughed at. It was an indescribable feeling I had never felt before, and it confused me greatly while bringing me soft pleasure. I shook that off and zoomed in on Isabella, who had managed to climb up and was now walking (or rather half-stumbling) her way over to me. I stepped forward to make the walk shorter for her, and I saw a flash of crimson past those long mahogany locks.

And I realzed, hit by her intense smell of lavendar, roses and freesia, that she smelled better to me than anyone else had before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Heya's everyone! How are ya? Good? Well that's great, cuz I'm perfectly HORRIBLE! Why must my "friend" choose to come this time of month?? Ugh, stomach cramps, mood swings, hunger and the like. Oh well, it'll all be over soon. Until then, enjoy this chapter and story! The link to the house will be on my profile.**

Of Lavendar, Roses and Freesia Chapter 2

**Bella **

I made sure to not look him directly in the face. I was sure I would be captured again by those eyes. I willed myself not to care, but even my will didn't seem to work. Maybe I could get myself not to care because of the expression on his face. A mixture of shock, confusion, restraint, and a strange desire that made him look hungry. He reached out his hand towards me, and I flinched a bit. I assumed he was going to hit me--that was the only thing that my masters had ever reached their hands out to do. Just because I was a numb, uncaring shell on the outside doesn't mean that it didn't hurt on the inside. Didn't mean that on the inside I wasn't . . . afraid . . .

His action suprised me. Instead of hitting me, he wrapped his hand (I noticed he had a big hand and long fingers with clean, well cared for nails) around my wrist and lifted it, bending down a bit and very suddenly pulling a paperclip out of his pocket--don't ask me why he carried a paperclip around in his pocket; I just assumed it had accumalated. I used to have lots of pocket junk . . . in my old, happy life. I flinched again, this time at the painful memories that entered my head.

"Hello, Isabella." He finally spoke, looking down at the shackle that was tied around my wrist and fishing the paperclip around in the lock until it snapped open. I twisted my wrist around, trying to work it out of the cramp it had been in for the last 3 hours--all the slaves had been shackled and put in the back of a big wagon that drove here.

"Bella," I corrected him almost immediately, hating to be called Isabella. It was too formal--and my father used to call me that. It was reason enough to hate being called by it. It was not that I hated the name, I loved it and was proud of it because I was bearing the name of my grandmother Isabella Dwyer. I just hated being called by it because of my sick, cruel father. I could feel my fists clench in anger. I wanted so desperately to hit something, someone . . .

"My name is Edward Cullen." Ah, Master Edward. Hm . . . sounded right. A lot better than most other names I'd heard before. I could feel my tightened fist begin to slowly relax as I left the thoughts of my father behind.

"Yes, Master Edward," I answered without thought, having been so used to doing this already that I only had to replace my last master's name with Edward. I couldn't even remember the name of my last master. I only used it for adressing him, other than that I basically paid it no mind and referred to him as "master", causing it to wipe my mind as soon as I was sent to the auctioning place. I would remember the name Edward though, because he was so strange. Of course, that opinion could soon fade into my normal one if he turned out to be fakeacting and was actually just like all my other old masters.

"This way." He said rather shortly, seeming suddenly brisk and business like. I was a bit surprised at the very sudden change in mood, but followed obediently, wanting to take a break from getting beaten if I could. He was leading me in the direction of a large wooden carriage, and at first I assumed this was what we were going home in. But I was perfect to be shocked at what we really were, because he veered form the walk very suddenly (leaving me stumbling to catch up; he walked so fast that three of my strides matched one of his) and led me instead to another carriage.

I froze in place for a few stunned moments, and then slowly stepped forward to get a better look. Master Edward-- I tacked "master" onto his name in my mind so I wouldn't slip and call him only by his first name.--was leading me to the most beautiful, elegant carriage I'd ever seen--to think that I might be riding in it, even I were only in the back. Brown wood interlaced together, creating an intricate design for the outside frame of the carriage. There were red curtains in the front, middle and back that I could only assume revealed space for seating--the front one would be for the footman, who would take care of the horses that would transport the carriage, the middle for Edward or any other master or lady or mistress or friend of his to sit, and the back for slaves or other inferiors required to travel with them. The top of the carriage was flat and square, and was not as intricate as open as the sides, front, back and wheels--I knew by common sense that it would need to be solid and whole to protect against bad weather. A team of magnificent white bays crowned the front, kept with golden bridles. I didn't notice until I looked back at the carriage that Master Edward was still walking towards it--he had kept going like it was nothing new or particularly special, which I assumed it was not for him. But I, who had never seen something so beautiful or large or in such well-kept condition before gawked at it. Master Edward turned back, noticing that I was still behind him, and smirked a bit.

"Amazed?" He asked, eyes mocking, once hard jaw now relaxed. I let my features melt into my usual frown, decided that I needn't really answer that question (I didn't want to anyway; I was not accustomed to speaking and so didn't if I had a choice. When I didn't, I used short, simple sentences that ended the conversation.) and moved up to stand behind him, waiting for permission to enter the inside of the "vehicle". He didn't seem to know what I was hesitating for, but soon followed my gaze to the back of the carriage and moved to take one of my now free wrists in his hands and pulled me to the middle of the carriage, helping me inside (my feet were still shackled; they would be until we reached his house, where I would not have fair chance to run.) and walking around the side of the carriage to sit beside me. I didn't ask why I was being allowed to sit beside him, though I desperately wanted to. Who was he? Why had he bid so high on me, why was he acting so polite, why was he ignoring the usual rules of society and allowing me, an obvious slave, to sit with him, a slave master? I wanted to ask him, but was afraid that he might get angry and decide to give me a good beating when we arrived at his home--something I was not in the mood nor state of mind for.

Turning away from him in an attempt to divert my growingly curios thoughts, I examined the interior of the compartment we sat in. The seats were red and were made of velvet, a gentle rubbing across them confirmed. You could see the small, golden nails that had been used to carefully set the luxurious seat in place. I saw that the curtain was lower on the wall of the carriage than I thought--brown wood continued above it, interrupted by a clean, square window. I had to straighten my back and crane my neck to look out of it; obviously this seat were made for a taller person to sit in. The ceiling was about a foot over my head, and had intricate designs on it. I could see the back of the footman's seat, which had a strange, unfamiliar crest engraved into it. I brushed my hand over it slightly, feeling the indentations of the wood. I think I heard Master Edward murmured something about "the Cullen crest" but I wasn't sure and I wasn't about to ask. The rest of the trip was quiet, except for Master Edward telling me at one point that I would probably be maid to Lady Alice, his sister. The word "maid" was unfamiliar to me at a great rate, and I could not refrain myself from asking what it meant.

"A maid is a female servant that cleans rooms and waits at parties or gatherings," he replied, seeming a bit surprised that I asked and also frustrated and confused but not treating me like his inferior--only two other people, my grandmother and my mother, had done this, and that had never happened again for _years_, them both being dead. Even my fellow slaves looked down their nose at me. I had always just assumed it was because I never talked to them much and that they mistook it as snobby-ness, and had proceeded to attack me viciously. It had taken a good blow to my self esteem, the reason I couldn't look a woman or a man directly in the face for more than 30 seconds now. I allowed myself the brief comfort of self-pity, wishing that I was the most beautiful woman on earth, even to only one person. Maybe then I would have the chance of escaping this life. Maybe then they would rescue me . . . would make me happy mistress of their house. I knew this was not a possiblity, because I was not beautiful to any man on earth--unless he happened to have really strange views on what beautiful was. I realized how vain my thoughts sounded, even to me, but could not help wanting to remove the insecurity that hung like a cloud over me. I shrunk into my seat most of the trip, ignoring Master Edward's stare and relieved that he did not ask any questions. As the carriage began to run over smooth ground I craned my neck again to look out the window. We were riding up a path, passing neat and beautiful plants that bordered it. I could see the faint cracks of pinkish stone from where I viewed. I thought it was very homey and cheerful looking--two things I was not much used to and felt strange to see again.

"This is our house. I think you might like it here." I didn't even think of laughing out loud. Listening and looking at Master Edward, looking and riding in this carriage, looking at those beautifully blooming flowers, I could imagine that I might have a chance. A chance to be . . . happy. A chance to feel . . . good.

**Edward**

"This is our house. I think you might like it here." Laughter seemed not to be the first thing she thought to do at the statement, which was a surprise. Most indentured servants/slaves would hurt themselves laughing at the possibility of being happy anywhere they were expected to work at. I wasn't joking in my hope for her to be happy--I wanted everyone we rescued from cruelty to be happy. What was the point of saving them if they were made miserable? That would do the opposite of what we hoped to accomplish. The sincerity seemed to be elevated for her.

Everything she said (she really didn't speak much at all, so it was a surprise when she did anyway) or did left me reveling in surprise and curiosity. Her mind was a mystery. Even when we had not been in distance from each other, even when I had heard brief flashes of her voice: low and quiet, but still recognizable as feminine-- I was not able to see anything from her. Nothingness emitted from her mind in waves. I could even assume that she was not thinking anything--but that would've been as wrong as saying that 2 + 2 was 5, because her head was rested on the palm of her hand, eyebrow knit together, deep brown eyes profound in thought. Another thing I noticed about her was beauty--she was truly the most beautiful woman/girl I had ever seen. Ivory pale, almost translucent skin served as the very fragile looking protection of her vital internal organs. Naturally reddish pink lips that were a bit too full for her soft jawline were bitten frequently, a habit I assumed had been formed out of nervousness or deep thought. A thin nose served as her smelling unit, placed between her absolutely magnificent eyes. They were deep brown, and showed flashes of emotions and shined--it was abnormal, because when seeing brown eyes on a human girl or boy they looked flat in their darkness. Everything about her was perfect: her long mahogany hair, her heart shaped face, her eyes, her lips, everything. I felt wrong and restless thinking it--it was too new to me, seeing beauty in any vampire woman or girl, let alone a human one.

To add to that, there was a strange humming feeling that started in my chest and traveled down my arms and legs and up my spine. It had started when I had first rested my hand around my wrist, first as a slight tingling then growing to an electric hum. It didn't make me uncomfortable in the feeling, it actually felt good, like receiving an internal massage by thousands of hands inside my chest, it just made me nervous and restless because I didn't know what is was or why it'd never happened until I had first touched Bella.

Yes, she was a mystery. A quiet divine one, might I add.

**Bella**

The carriage gave a slight jolt and came to a sudden stop. I turned back to Edward, about to ask him if we had arrived at his home, but when I did he was already getting out of the wagon and about 15 seconds later he was pulling the curtain back and helping me out of the wagon. I felt a slight tingling sensation when our skin met—it seemed to hum. It startled me a bit, and I pulled back as soon as I was down from the carriage. I looked up at the house I was supposed to be working it. I was amazed.

It looked like a professional architect—sometimes hard to come by, being the 18th century, had designed it. It was so neat. The exterior paint was a creamy sort of ivory color. The trim around the windows and on the porch was a deep dull, but not ugly green that fit in well. The trim around the roof, balconies, and sides were the same color. The roof was shingled—also hard to find—and gray, with turrets. There were two balconies—one that was on the west side of the house, it's floor forming the ceiling of a side porch. There was one above the front door as well, which a lamp hung from in between the support beams holding it up. Some parts of the house, such as the roof installment between the first and second floor windows had red brick designs on them. I could see the porch, neat and intricate at the same time. The windows were practically spaced, probably mostly in fron to provide a view of the garden. There was a small lawn and a hedge outside the front of the house. And, counting the windows of the rooms I could see, (12 on the front) I realized that it was not a house, it was a mansion. I was temporarily frozen in shock, but then moved to take a step forward and fell on my face. Shit. I'd forgotten that my feet were chained. While I sat their, my stained white dress getting dirtier by the second, Edward stooped down and used the same paperclip from his pocket to undo the shackles on my feet.

As soon as I was free, I jumped up. I half debated running, but curiosity held me back. Plus, I was sure, with his long legs and fast walking that he would catch me 5 seconds after I tried to. So I followed him up the porch and to the front door, shuffling my feet to keep quiet. He opened the door for me, and I glanced up. Once again, he managed to startle me. No one had ever done that before—not besides my mother, or other gentleman when my life was good, when I was considered one of the highest. It had been so long since then that I didn't even remember how it felt, to be given that kind of deference. It felt . . . good, to bring up past luxuries. But I knew that it was probably only for this time. Still, I enjpyed the feeling while I could, imagining myself back in my nursery while my mother sang to me—calm, soothing, _good _memories.

"Thank you," I mumbled, meaning it for more than he knew.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hi guys! I started out feeling lazy but I read your reviews and so I'm writing again. Please enjoy Chapter 3 and give me honest feedback. That means telling me what you liked about the story so I can have more features close to that and telling me what could be better so I can improve it. I don't have a beta reader, so I read this through myself. Hope you like it!**_

**Edward**

She stepped inside. I closed the door quietly, waiting for her to adjust. The setting was friendly, comfortable. Esme had designed it specifically to add warmth. There was a long ivory couch, sided by two mahogany end tables. A matching armchair sat, back facing the north wall, next to it. A mahogany coffee table centered the setting, holding a bowl of stones with a candle in the middle. Volumes scattered across one end of the table, as if the reader had been searching for one but had changed their mind. A long mahogany table lined the north wall, with a colorful, abstract painting above it. The rest of the room had glass cabinets or bookshelves.

I sighed ,wanting to give her a tour of the house but knowing that I had to go tell my family about her and sort things out first. For now, I would call Courtney, one of our maids, to help her.

"Stay here. I'll get Courtney to help you." And then: "I'll show you around the house after she does." And then I left to go find Courtney, not saying another word.

**Bella**

I'm alone. Cool. I looked around the living room again. It's cozy. I like it. A few minutes later, to my dread, another girl appears. She looked about 15 and had dark hair and light eyes. She introduced herself as Courtney.

"What's your name, newbie?"

"Bella."

"Alright, Bella, come on. We don't have long, because Master Edward went to go tell Lady Alice about your arrival and she'll be all over you before you can say mama. Not to say she's smothering, just a bit excited and sudden. You'll like her. Before we do anything else, we must go over the rules.

"First off, we have to sleep in the same room unless we're sick. Earl Manning, Master Edward's personal servant is fallen ill and no one expects him to live you know. Master Edward will probably get a new one once Earl is gone--he wouldn't want to hurt ol' Earl's feelings. I know, Master Edward is strange but at least he's nice and doesn't fuss too much about things. Anyway, after Earl is gone he'll probably have you work for him or get a new servant from an auction." I didn't realize that telling me the rules also meant bringing me up to date on all te house gossip and situations."

"Anyhow, our beds are arranged in a circle. Some get their own beds, some get bunkers. You'll probably be using the bed Mary used to have. Mary was the servant before you; she was let off because her parents got sick and she wanted to leave. The Cullens are nice like that. We're all hoping they won't fire any of us, because you know we won't find a family like theirs nowhere else. Anyway, on to rule two. We're maids, so we have to wear uniforms like this one," she motions to her knee length dress; "and we have to complete all our tasks for the day before we get a break or go to bed. Usually Master Edward or Lady Alice will have a list for you, but if you don't just start cleaning. That works, too. And you get a day or two off, if you're injured, sometimes a week. Master Carlisle--the head master--is a doctor, so everyone is healed in a day or two.

"We have our own bathroom. We have to keep it clean, so try not to make a mess. Hey, don't look offended. I'm just warning you. Last newbie that came in here made a whole big mess and we spent our whole day cleaning it up. Third rule, meals are to be breakfast, lunch, dinner, in that order. No missing out on it, or else you won't have a good meal til' the next day. Breakfast is at 7:30, so wake up early if you want to get the good stuff before it's gone. Lunch is at 11:30, and dinner is at 6:00. Don't worry about the time differences, the chef makes a great big meal for us so we can be full the whole day. Rule number four. There is a list of things that should not, under any circumstances, be touched: statues, glass vases, antiques, paintings (except to give them a very light cleaning with a damp but not soaking towel. NOTHING ELSE.), any of the formal dining sets, and the heart of Master Edward." My face shrivels up in confusion at the last bit. The others made sense, but what about the last one? I didn't get it at all. Courtney smiled, almost sadly, and explained. "No one has been able to touch his heart, ever. He's nice, and polite, but he hardly ever smiles. And usually, he gets really frustrated if his parents try to introduce him to a woman. I think he might like guys, but don't tell him I said that, or else I'll probably get harder work. So anyway, that's about all you need to know. Come to me if you have any questions. Here's the bathroom now."

She pushed me through a doorway and into the biggest room I'd ever seen. It was huge, and looked more like a locker room than a bathroom. The east wall had toilets lining it, and each one had a closed space and door for privacy. I smiled, I liked the idea of privacy. The west wall had baths lining it, individual bathtubs with, when I looked closer, the names of girls on them. I couldn't read plain text to save my life, but I at least knew how to read names.

Catherine

Josephine

Lydia

Delacia

Amy

Heather

Courtney

Mary

I wondered when they'd change Mary's name to mine, of if they would at all. Courtney, having figured she was done here, told me that the cabinet for the uniforms was outside. And then she left to go do her work. I was left alone, again. It seems I've always been alone. Even when there were so many people with me, I've always been alone and always will be. I feel like crying as I step into the bathtub and begin to run the water, letting it splash over my legs as I bent over them, my tears wetting the skin there. Had I always been alone, even when my grandmother, my mother, were with me? Maybe. They had never been me--had never really suffered what I had from my father. My mother, she died before it started. Before she died, my father loved me. But, as soon as the doctor said she was gone, he blamed me. Even when she was still alive, sick in her bed, he would come into my room and kick me, beat me. And why? For something I had no power over? I still didn't know.

I was destined to be here. My mother made it that way. In her will, she stated that I was to be given into an auction for an indentured servant. I almost thanked her for it. This life was hell for me, but at least I was away from my father, who was still alive somewhere. I knew because I saw him in the newspapers, when I did get a chance to read them. On his picture in the paper, he smiled. I wondered if he had forgotten me. Maybe. I never knew what he was in the newspaper for, because I couldn't read. My grandmother had tried to teach me, but she'd died before I caught on. And my mother died before she could even try to. Would things have been different if I could read? Maybe. That was all I could say in my life. Maybe. Maybe to happiness. Maybe to living another day. Maybe to_ wanting_ to live another day.

I turned off the water, which now came up to my neck, the hot water threatening to strangle me. I thought of a riddle my mother had read to me from a book and I'd never been able to solve.

_When are you most vulnerable?_

The answer came to me now.

_When I'm naked lying on my back in an enclosed space in water. When I'm in the bathtub._

I knew what the answer should have been. It should have been " when I'm a little girl, and my father is coming down the hall towards my room". But I didn't think of that now. Now, I thought of what I could do. Drown myself. Hold my breath underwater until I died. Use a towel to strangle myself. Scald my skin off. Hang myself on a towel rack. It would be so easy. No one was going to miss me. Yes, it would be perfect if--

I stopped then, kicking and thrashing in the water, making it splash and swish, until I couldn't hear the sound of my sobbing. Until I wasn't sure if I was crying or if the water I was splashing over my head was doing it for me. When I was sure I could last a few hours without crying, I climbed out of the tub, slipping on the wet surface of the tile. I wrapped myself in a towel and staggered towards the door, weak from crying. I opened the cabinet door, looked around, and quickly changed into the uniform. It was a little too tight on me, and felt uncomfortable. I wondered what I was supposed to do now. I remembered Master Edward saying he would show me around the house after Courtney gave me a rundown, but where was he now?

I didn't have to wait long to find out. At that same moment, Master Edward came down the hall, walking in a very brisk manner. I almost winced at the expression on his face. He didn't say anything when he reached me. Just mimed for me to follow him. I sighed. His mood swings gave me whiplash, big time.

**Edward**

Dammit! Alice is up to something. She said she'd take Bella, but only on Mondays and Fridays. When I asked her why, she said that she wouldn't want me to be left without a personal servant when Earl Manning died. And when I told her I could get a new one, she said that would not be the best choice because we were running out of space as it was and we couldn't afford to fire anyone. I wonder what she's up to. She did, however, want to meet Bella as soon as I was done giving her a tour. So I had to hurry, before Alice decided to come and meet Bella herself.

I motioned for her to follow me, and led her room through room, barely giving her time to drink everything in before I moved on. We passed through the whole house in record time, and then I led her to Alice's room.

"This is Lady Alice's room. She might be a little excited, so make sure you stand near a wall or something." And then I opened the door to unleash the terrifying monster that hid in Alice's small form.

**Bella**

"Hi! You must be Bella!"I was knocked down, and when I opened my eyes I saw the face of an exuberant, small, spiky haired girl with a huge beaming smile on her face. I sat up, and she bounced back up to stand up. I realized why Courtney, and then Master Edward had warned me. I stood up, brushing off my dress and smiling.

"I'm Lady Alice! I'll have to get you a bigger dress. Do you like my room?" She asked, dancing around with her hands spread out. The room was bathed in color. A pink canopy bed with black sheets and pillows, a white vanity with a mirror and an ottoman, a white wardrobe, a pink rug agaisnt a dark brown floor, and black walls. There were clothes laid across the bed, and hair pins all across the vanity counter-top. There was pink and red powder of some sort, kept in jars, on a white dresser.

"Yes, Lady Alice."

"Oh, none of that stuff. I like Alice better. Lady Alice makes me feel old. I'm only 17 like you, you know."

"How did you know I was 17?" I asked, not able to stop myself.

"Lucky guess!! Do you want to see my clothes? They're great! We have Mondays and Fridays together, so that means I get to give you make overs! Won't it be fun??!!!"

"I don't know . . .," I trailed off uncertainly.

"Please! It'll be great. Won't it?" She gives me sad eyes, and I sigh, consenting.

"YAY!! We're gonna be best friends!!!!" And then she grabbed me, seeming totally oblivious that this would've been looked upon as inferior by other people (it was bad taste in society to make physical contact with a servant unless you were a servant as well or unless you were beating them) and spun me around, singing and squealing. And for the first time in a long time, I choked out sounds that resembled laughing.

_**So? What d'ya think? Good? Bad? Edwards point of view will get longer in later chapters, for now I want to focus on Bella and how she's adjusting. I think things'll start to heat up soon!!! Reviews? Pretty triple chocolate fudge please?**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi again, my **__**great readers! Thanks to fallunder and ingenuity15 for the awesome feedback, and also to my other reviewers who's comments encouraged me and made me get off my ass and write something. Thanks, I tried to make this chapter really good! Reviews? I'll give you cookies!**_

**Bella**

After that, Alice (it still felt strange to me speaking her first name out loud, as if I'd committed a huge vulgarity, and yet it felt so right in my mind, as if there were everything normal about it in the world) showed me through her wardrobe. There were dresses, all kinds of dresses. Empire waisted, flowing skirt, blue, pink, green, black, lace, long sleeved, puff sleeved, straight, ankle length, floor length, everything. An abundance of hats I was sure had been bought each to match with a specific dress, and lots of shoes fitting the same assumption. It was like a huge market in itself. Some of the dresses looked too big for her small frame, and I wondered if she had any sisters, but I was not quite sure how to ask. I had never been the casual, relaxed type. I somehow felt nervous and careful everywhere I went. Maybe things would be different if--if I hadn't had to learn never to trust anyone, because as soon as I did, betrayal and resentment would spring up; hot like coals, burning my heart, already so mangled to blackened cinders.

I hadn't realized that I was panting, clutching my hand to my heart until Alice wrapped her arms around me and began to shout, sounding . . . worried. But I didn't trust that either. She could be an acter, a faker, like so many people had been in my life. God, I was so paranoid. And I had so many problems, so many queer features. . .but could you ever blame me? Blame me for having problems, blaming me for developing them so I could escape from my life, so I could focus on those instead of what was really going on? But, no matter how many habits I built up, no matter how many traits I tacked on, they would burn away too, the flame ignited by someone I already hated so much--myself.

"Bella? Are you okay? What's wrong?!" She was patting me, as if she were not sure what to do. It made me want to laugh, and cry. To tell her I didn't know what to do either. So many times, I knew what to do, what to feel. As a slave, my actions were rehearsed, my dialogue already read over like a steadfast script. But, though I knew how to be the perfect slave, I never knew how to be myself. I was screaming for help, screaming for someone to save me. But instead, all I told Alice was that I was fine and that I had been a little surprised at her whole closet. She smiled, perfectly oblivious to the lame lie in her excited state. I was glad, because I was a bad liar. I couldn't even tell a straight lie to myself. She chattered on, pointing to different dresses and describing them all to me. I smiled, glad for the sudden rush of information. It would numb my mind, block the memories, the pain. But I knew that as soon as I was alone, I would cry again. Alice left me with a list of chores, finally having something else to do.

"We're friends? Okay?" Her expression was so hopeful, so pleading, that it even reached her eyes. There wasn't a falter in her voice, no undertone, raw emotions shown. I almost completely trusted her statement--to tell the truth, I was starting to trust her, a tiny portion of me. But I would never tell, never make myself weak. That was one thing I had learned to always follow in life, if anything.

"Sure. Sure." I said shortly but sincerely, actually liking the prospect of having a friend--even it was a person I'd have to work for. Courtney said the Cullens were nice, didn't she? And I thought so, a little . . .

Alice was hugging me and then out the door before I could say more. I sighed, looked at my list, stared blankly at the bed, and then collapsed, crying for a good ten minutes. By the time all the sobs came out, the tears, my eyes were puffy, my cheeks were swollen, and I wanted to retreat to my own lone corner of the world to hide from the world, my life, and myself, forever.

I finally got up and started down the list: make the bed; clean the dresser; clean up and organize the vanity;go through the closet and match up things by order: hat, dress, shoes by color. The first few were very easy. I made the bed in five minutes. Cleaning the dresser took about ten, because I had decided that since she said "clean the dresser" instead of "sort the top of the dresser" that meant that she wanted the whole thing cleaned. She had the very basic dresser things: underclothing, stockings, veils, scarfs. I brushed away dirt from the drawers and shook out the contents, folding them again and putting them back the way they were, not sure how she organized them. I didn't touch the undergarment drawer. It was too . . . strange. After that, I dusted off everything else, then went in the hall and found a broom, using it to sweep the floor, being sure to place it back in its spot.

After that, there was nothing else to do, so I decided that it would be okay to go outside the room, maybe meet the other people living in the house. I walked down the halls, making sure not to make too much noise. As I turned another corner, I saw a medium toned sort of girl with blue eyes and blonde hair tied into a bun scrubbing the floor. She was doing it constantly, using a towel to scrub the boards and a literal needle to stick into the cracks in between. She kept pricking herself, and when she looked close to crying, I offered to help. She looked up, startled by my sudden appearance, and then nodded. I used the needle, being sure to leave a gap between the fingers that was holding it so I wouldn't get stuck with the end of the needle that wasn't inside the hole. There wasn't much to pick out of the cracks, and I was done with the entire hallway in 20 minutes. By then, she was finishing up.

"Oh, thanks," she said, picking up the bucket and stretching her back.

"No problem," I murmured, focusing on the small boards of the floor.

"Hey, I've never seen you here before. You new?"

"Yeah, just got here today, you?"

"I've been here about a month now. We're both new! My name's Lydia, by the way. What's yours?"

"Bella."

"Oh, that's nice. I've never heard that one. . . anyway, I'm glad that you're here. Mary was so dull and boring! Looked like someone was torturing her half the time. I know it sounds so mean and wicked, but I'm almost happy that her parents got sick so she could leave! Am I a bad person?" We were walking down the hallway now . . . well she was walking, I was following her, listening to her chatter.

"I don't think so. I think we all feel wicked sometimes, but what matters is that we're good enough to know when we are being wicked and to admit it to other people. I think that's the test to determine if you're a good person, actually."

"Really? Wow. No one's ever said something so deep before. I mean, there are deeper things, but I mean no one here has ever said something deep like that. Mostly they talk about the work, who's doing what, and other things like that. No one ever really looks at stuff like that. Mary certainly didn't. I think she was from the North, actually. Her parents came here with her to see the south, and next thing you know she was a slave. I think it had a really bad effect on her, though. I mean, really worse than normal, because most people already know that once they hit the south, they have an about 80 percent chance of becoming a slave. I mean, come on. We were all taken away from our parents, I was. What about you?"

"Well, you have to think about it some more. To Mary and her parents, the South sounded to them about as good as the North sounds to us. From their eyes, this place probably sounded great. I mean, we are known to have some of the most unusual and yet good food out there. To them, it was adventurous to comre here, exciting, like it would be exciting for us to live in the North." I spurt the words from my lips quickly, avoiding the topic of "my story" for both her sake and mine. I was sure I would dissolve into tears as soon as I tried to choke any of my past out, and I was not ready for that in public. And, I was not ready to share my story with anyone, anyone. I held on to it, held onto the fragile good memories in hopes that the bad ones would one day flame and disappear from the oh so vivid picture, with good memories stretching and moving to fill in their places. And until that happened, I would hold it to myself. This was an excuse, I suppose. I never expected it to happen, so it was just a way to keep from telling others about my past.

"Yeah, I never thought of it that way. You and I are going to be friends, I hope. I can't wait to introduce you to the other people in our rank here! All of them are pretty nice, I guess, but some have a nasty streak, so you have to watch out. Well, it's almost lunch time by now. We better get down early. Just let me get this bucket in the closet and then we'll go off to the eating room."

I nodded, smiling a bit, just a bit. I wanted to scream at myself for being so suspicious of anything and everyone who tried to be nice to me. I just couldn't fight off the paranoia that as soon as I opened up, I would be betrayed.

Because really, it was not friendship or openess or love that scared me. It hadn't scared me, not since my father had started beating me. I actually desired such things, because I never really had them before, just glimpses of the real things, flirting with my eyes and darting away just as soon as I reached out to grasp them.

No, it was the fear of rejection and ultimately pain that chained me back now. I was an outsider, looking in at other people enjoying their lives. Laughing, smiling, joking, talking, carefree. Even fellow slaves could find their way into that world, like Lydia and Courtney, and Ladies, like Alice. There was no question about that.

The only question was, how did _I _get there?

And, could I?

_**I know this was kind of short, but let me explain. This is a sample chapter. What that means, for me, it is a chapter testing the plot and pace of the story. So, now that you've read it, I want you to leave a review giving your opinion on two things: how the plot is going, and how fast the story is progressing. The sooner the better, because I won't feel safe continuing any chapters until I know! **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hi, so I got like 5 more reviews 2 including feedback and a few more with short and sweet responses that all made me happy so I'm updating again. Sorry for the brief wait, my math teacher is suggesting a pop quiz soon so I took some time to study, but now I'm back! Hope you enjoy, on with the chapter!**_

**Edward**

I felt kind of bad for leaving Bella there alone to deal with Alice, but I knew that if I were there Alice'd attack me, too. So I left while they were both distracted, trying to ignore the immediate but confusing burst of anger when Alice knocked Bella down. It was more than just anger—it was the urge to protect, and the fear that Bella would be hurt. I made up the excuse, after I had retreated into my room, of not being able to resist Bella's blood. I knew that if Bella's blood was spilled, I would rush to drink it. Though I hadn't really felt the instant need to kill her to drink her sweet, floral scented blood, I knew that the control would go out the window if I saw it outside of her body, for just a second.

To tell the truth, I more so wanted to wrap myself in Bella's scent and pretend to sleep, to dream, as I used to. Maybe if I could do it while looking at her it would have double the effect. But I knew it would be questionable for me to suddenly walk up to Bella and start inhaling. A few of the servant already suspected that there was something different about us, we didn't need that suspicion increased. So I would have to tread lightly while Bella was here. If I made one slip in her presence, which I didn't imagine would be hard to do, she might notice—and tell everyone. I expected it, of course. Even if I couldn't read her mind—still a pending mystery—I knew that telling everyone what she'd seen would be an almost reflexive response. Everyone wanted attention, and the servants and maids gossiped like crazy anyway. What would a new rumor change about that?

I sat down on my bed, which was there only for show, but of which I still felt the response to lie down on and sit on, like a human. Staring at the golden duvet, counting the stitches, I almost didn't notice the spiky black haired figure that bounced into my room. She plopped down on my bed, right on the patch of stitches I was examining. She beamed, and the whole story of her first hour with Bella poured out.

"It was great! I showed her my whole wardrobe. I think she's very pretty, but she just seems like she's shy and half afraid to talk. I wonder why? Are you going to figure it out?"

"How would I know? You're the psychic. And you're right, both about the beautiful thing and the shy one." The last part was half murmured to myself. Alice grinned, and only then did I realize my slip. Ah, were they beginning already, even when Bella wasn't here to intoxicate me with her beauty and scent?

"I never specifically said she was beautiful. You think so, huh?" She grinned at me. I groaned, already knowing what she was suggesting without having to read her thoughts, She believed—well, forget that, she _knew—_that I was attracted to Bella. She was suddenly squealing.

"I knew it! I knew it! Edward has found love at last!"

"Oh, be quiet, you babbling idiot. I don't love her. She is beautiful, anyone would have to admit it . . . with the exception of Rosalie." I snorted. Alice giggled, and I thought of how lucky I was that Rosalie was out hunting and not here to hear that. Speaking of which, I might as well take the opportunity to announce Bella to the family, while Rosalie wasn't here to impose her wrath.

"Should I tell the rest of the family about Bella now?" Alice's eyes shifted out of focus, and then she nodded. I stood up and went downstairs, running over everything I would need to say. I didn't need to mention the strange connection I felt between Bella and myself. Nor did I need to mention the fact that she was purely beautiful, at least to me. All I would need to say was that she was female and that her name was Isabella Swan. That would be about enough to satisfy them. And if I said nothing more than that, then Emmett wouldn't find a way to tease me. Good, good.

"Family meeting!" Alice trilled out. Four more vampires were very suddenly sitting in the dining room we'd entered. I sat across from Carlisle, who was sitting in the seat at the north head of the table. All the heads were turned towards Alice, but she pointed to me.

"This is Edward's meeting. I only said family meeting because I liked screaming." Emmett laughed, but then turned to me to see what I had to say, as well as everyone else.

"There is a new maid present at the house—I got her at an auction about an hour earlier—her name is Isabella Swan." I almost corrected myself, but remembered that they wouldn't know what Bella was short for if I used it to introduce her for the first time. Carlisle's eyebrows raised, and Esme looked curious, but didn't badger me.

"I thought Esme needed a male for gardening?" Damn it to hell. How the hell did I explain this? I sure as hell couldn't say "well I saw her at the auction, standing up on stage, and I knew I had to save her" and expect them to understand. None of them would, I realized, because they hadn't been the ones to see her that first time, the way she held herself, the fear that ghosted her features. All they would see now was a shy, pretty girl who acted a little strange instead of the afraid, mangled soul I saw when I looked in her eyes. It was strange, the grief that crowded over me when I thought of it and the sudden urge to wrap her in my arms, to rock her back and forth, to comfort her. I knew I would never be able to do this without posing a risk to her life, and my dead heart sank. Jasper was looking at me a little strangely, and I smiled at him apologetically.

_She must be really special if you're feeling like that. Can you cool it down? A little too much of a grief overload._

I knew Jasper was joking, but I still directed my emotions away from sadness, more so for my sake than for his. He gave me a relieved look, then turned back to Carlisle, who's question still hung in the air.

"That's okay, sweetheart. Maybe a female would be better anyway. I'm sure they would be gentler, and would know more about handling plants, because men tend to work in the fields. Now that I think of it, I should have asked for a female in the first place. It's very lucky that Edward took that into consideration, though." She glanced at me sideways, and winked, and I knew that I was off the hook. I wouldn't have ot explain why I had taken Bella now. And Rosalie wouldn't contradict anything Esme said. I almost jumped up and hugged Esme, but quickly restrained myself, knowing that the action would startle everyone in the room and would certainly make Esme question it, though she would be pleased. Instead, I settled on the fact that Bella would be staying. I wanted to tell her that she would be, but I knew that she wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about. And really, I just wanted an excuse to talk to her again. I consoled myself by remembering that tomorrow I would have Bella to myself and would have time to talk to her some more. Though it was wrong to wish someone dead, I now wished with all my soul that Earl Manning's departure would speed up so that I could have more time to talk to Bella without it biting on my conscience. I very quickly got up from the table, thanked Esme, and then left. I heard soft giggling coming from somewhere when I moved to go up the marble staircase, and then I heard Bella's low, sweet voice breaking into them, saying something that caused them to giggle even more. I smiled a bit, then went upstairs to my room, thoughts purely pleasant,

The rest of the day passed quickly, to my satisfaction. I did see Bella a few times around the house, but mostly she was working and looked down, very suddenly busy with wiping down a table or sweeping a floor, when I entered the room, but I saw her peek up a few times when she thought I wasn't looking, and stare until I turned my head in the slightest, which I tried not to do, just to see how long she would stare if I didn't interrupt. She continued to gaze at me, and it excited me in the strangest me. I felt very happy every time this happened, and it took all I had not to go up to her and tell her just how beautiful I thought she was and that I should be staring at her every two minutes, and not the other way around. Alice just so happened to be in the room every time this happened, and she lifted her eyebrows suggestively. I tried to avoid Alice in the same room with Bella after that. But the rest of the day, she seemed to be the only thing on my mind, even when I reminded myself that I didn't really know her at all and that there were other barriers prohibiting any sort of personal relationship.

What is she doing to me?

**Bella**

I went to the eating room with Lydia. She was nice, she introduced me to all the other maids. They were all very pretty, beautiful compared to a plain jane like me. I didn't expect anything else, really. Almost all my life, I'd been told I was ugly, and now when I looked in the mirror I believed it.

I also ran into Master Edward again a few times. I know to him it was probably nothing, just coincidence. But I thought maybe Alice might have something to do with it, from the way she kept looking at him and me. It made me very uncomfortable. It was as if she were suggesting that Master Edward and I were together, _together_. I knew that wasn't any kind of social etiquette—slaves were not to have any personal relations with their Masters. Period. So I was very confused and offended by the looks she gave. I don't think she really meant to make me uneasy, but I couldn't help wanting to run out of there. It didn't help that my brain refused to tell my eyes to stop staring at Master Edward. I don't think they would've cooperated even if it had. He was just so . . . stunning. I hadn't gotten over the initial shock of seeing someone this handsome, so seeing him again now made me think I was meeting him again for the first time. Tousled bronze hair, strong chin, supple lips, topaz eyes . . . it was all too perfect, really. And so I stared every time he looked away, half to avoid being beaten, half because I would never be able to do so while he looked at me. Yes, I was that insecure.

Now, Lady Alice was explaining my schedule while writing out a list in her own calligraphy. I didn't tell her that I couldn't read. I would just have to hope that I could memorize what she was saying. Maybe I could throw that list away. Not like I'd ever be able to see anything on it anyway, besides a bunch of small, slightly scrawled curves and loop-de-whoops. (Alice's writing is small French script MS)

Bella's Schedule:

Breakfast: 7:30-9:00

Cleaning for Master Edward (Tuesdays thru Thursdays): 9:00 to 11:30

Lunch: 11:30-1:00

Cleaning main rooms: 1:00-3:30

Tending to garden: 3:30-5:55

Dinner: 6:30-8:00

Any break time (for baths, talking, etc): 830-9:30

ALL LIGHTES MUST BE OUT BY 10:00! NO EXCEPTIONS!

You are scheduled to help Lady Alice on Mondays and Fridays between 9:30 to 11:30, and after and if you finish you other work. You may help either her or Edward on Saturdays from 3:30 to 6:00. On Sundays the family will either be out together or off separately, so please take the time to clean all of the bedrooms.

I stared down at the paper, as if concentrating hard enough on the script would help my mind decipher the words. I vaguely remembered my grandmother teaching me the alphabet.

"_What's this letter, Bells?" _

"_A!" I shouted in my exuberant 3 year old manner, pointing to the upside down V with a cross over it. She nodded._

"_Good! What about this one?"_

"_B!"_

"_Yes! You're doing well!" She smiled at me. That was the first time anyone ever said that I was doing well. The first time ever, and almost the last._

Now I barely remembered what those letters looked like. All I remembered was that I used them every day while I was thinking and while I was speaking. It was so frustrated to know how to pronounce a word but not how to write it on paper. Alice made it look so easy. I wanted so badly to snatch the pen out her hand. Why did she get to know how to write and read, to take pleasure in things I couldn't reach?

But then again, hadn't people always took pleasure in things I couldn't?

_**I tried to make this chapter longer. I added a squeeze of Bella's POV there at the end. Writing in Edwards POV was a little bit awkward for me, because I've never really written stories in his POV so I wondered while I was writing that if I was having him rush into his feelings too fast. Please leave a review with you opinion and/or encouragement! And so I'm off to write Chapter 6! **___


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hi . . . hope this wasn't too long, impulsively decided to make this one long chapter instead of splitting it into 2. It took longer, but I enjoyed writing it. Suggestions for drama/fluff/other in reviews welcome, as well as any constructive criticism. Review!**_

**Bella**

The day passed quickly, and I found myself eating dinner before I knew it. I pushed the food around on my plate, debating whether or not to eat it. I didn't think I'd be able to swallow it if I did. Right now, my throat felt like my tongue had been shoved down it, constricting it. And I didn't even know if my lazy lips would move. Right now, I was in such a bad mood that I felt like I just wanted to curl up in bed and have some peace, away from anything and everything. Lydia and Courtney, already considering themselves friends (I did too; it felt good to have a friend) noticed my silence and lack of appetite, and began questioning me.

"Is something wrong?" Lydia asked, very blue eyes clouded with concern. I smiled a little bit, to calm her, even though I felt like crap.

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm just not exactly used to so much food—it's going to take my body awhile to get accustomed to eating so much at every meal." Good lie. It was half true, at least. As I rolled the words off my lips, pronouncing the familiar sounds easily, I wondered just how each word had been created. It felt so strange, not knowing just how a sound, a letter, a word, really came from. Who had the first ideas for words? Since there appeared to be words in the bible (from the parts that my grandmother had read to me) maybe someone had created them before God? If writing was invented centuries and centuries after God's time, who wrote the bible? There were so many questions no one could answer, because no one knew except for the people who had created everything I questioned, and they were all dead. It felt so frustrating. I was pulled out of my wondering by the sound of Courtney's voice.

"Are you sure? We could ask the chef to make you a smaller plate. . . " Though Courtney was a very brisk, direct person, she was also friendly and helpful. Her pale green eyes reflected the offer in her words, and I smiled gratefully.

"That would be nice, thank you. Well, I'm about done here, so I guess I'll just go and get ready for bed."

"Ok. I advise you to take a bath before you do. Mary didn't exactly take much care to keep herself clean, and who knows what kind of germs and nonsense might lurk in her bed?" I laughed a bit, nodded and went upstairs to the bathroom. I had discovered, while cleaning it, that the cabinet outside with uniforms also contained clean sheets and night wear. I was sleepy now, but it would feel good to change into something clean for going to bed my first night here. I could feel the sleepiness rolling onto me, blurring my vision. I blinked a few times, surprised at the sudden change. My mind spun—I couldn't focus on where I was, I was dizzy. . .spinning so many times. . .

Sweat appeared like beads on my forehead and dribbled down my face. I could feel my body changing, could feel my self fainting from the world of reality. I could see, at the very tips of my blurred vision, a world of blackness, waiting to suck me in. This was not supposed to be a surprise. I had fainted—and been knocked and beaten to the point of unconsciousness many times before. The blackness was to be expected. But it was so different, not like anything else. It didn't swallow me whole, as it should have. It seemed to be feinting in and out, teasing me, trying to put me on guard. I stumbled down the hallway, hugging the wall to stay straight. Oh, why hadn't I waited for Lydia and Courtney? I was alone now, the perfect time for blackness to take it's chance and grasp me in its ensnaring grip. I couldn't breathe. I could feel my knees beginning to go weak, and I took action.

_Walk,_ I told myself. _Do NOT fall. _ I pushed myself, gripping the wall to keep standing, and pulled myself along the hallway. How far away was I from the maids bedroom? I could collapse there; if only I managed to make it down this hallway.

Just as I neared the bathroom, only about 5 doors away from the group bedroom, I felt my brain beginning to give in to blackness. It rushed forward in bursts, fighting away all senses, until I sunk to the ground, legs twisted painfully under me. I didn't get up again. I couldn't. Instead, I let the darkness overtake me. I was weak anyway. What could I do?

I don't remember how long I lay there before I went numb.

**Edward**

Alice, characteristically, was in her room, planning her dress assemble for tomorrow. I was laying on my bed, eyes closed. I thought that maybe if Bella was here she might have pulled the cover over me, might have left the room to leave me in presumed slumber. It seemed to fit her; I could imagine the small smile on her face, her tiny hands pulling the duvet up to cover me.

_You don't know what fits her at all. You shouldn't even be thinking about it, _my inner mind chided. I sighed, rubbing my temples. Alice's mind suddenly burst into my head, disturbing what shreds of peace I'd been holding onto.

"Edward, Bella is in trouble, hurry, hurry!" She shrieked inside her head, and I rushed up. Anything with Bella was my concern. I suppose some part of my mind disapproved this merely out of not understanding why, but that part was quickly pushed out at the mention of Bella getting hurt. I followed the direction Alice sought out in her head. It was near the bathroom—I wondered if she'd tripped and fell while trying to get there? She was clumsy, after all. Well, from what I had determined, she was clumsy.

My assumption was wrong, I realized with horror when I saw she small figure curled up near the bathroom door. Her legs were twisted under her awkwardly, her torso crushing them, and I knew that when—and if—she woke up, she would feel pain there. Her arms were splayed out, hair in a graceful yet messy disarray. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't even think as I kneeled beside her, slipped my arms between her stomach and the ground, and picked her up. I straightened her legs, so that they were hanging over my left forearm at the knee. Warmth spread from my arms to every fiber in my being, and the same electricity pulsed through me. It was so strong, as if I were being electrocuted, but it felt good at the same time. My arms moved on their own, my hand lifted to cradle Bella's head to my chest. I wanted to lean down and inhale, to bury my face in her hair, to reach some kind of further physical connection between us. I was so lucky Alice met me at the doorway to her room. If she hadn't been there, I would've lost control. I would've smothered Bella completely, lost in her so much that I lost all threads of reality, burying her under my weight, crushing her. It hurt to think of it, and I was grateful—and angry, and reluctant—as Alice moved to take Bella in her own arms. I half thought of refusing, but knew that I would be able to handle myself more if Alice took Bella. So she was transferred, and Alice moved to place Bella in her bed. The pink lace canopy seemed to wrap around Bella's form like mist. The blanket was placed over her body, which was shivering and pale. Light sweat flowed like a sheen over Bella's forehead, and her skin seemed even paler than usual, making it almost translucent; I could see a light vein running over her arm. Alice moved out of my way as I moved to kneel near Bella's fainted form.

"She's going to sleep for a good 14 hours," Alice warned me. I didn't turn away from looking at Bella's face when I answered.

"That's fine. I'll wait." A slight noise of footsteps, then Alice had placed a chair next to the bed.

"Here. Sit here. If you're going to insist on staying near Bella while she sleeps, at least get more comfortable." I complied, lifting myself into the chair, keeping my eyes focused in an intense stare at Bella's face. I almost wished she would wake up very soon, so I could look into her eyes again. but knew she needed to sleep. I wondered why she had collapsed. Maybe dehydration? Hunger? Shock? What would've shocked her . . .

That took some contemplation in itself, and by the time I was once again completely focused on Bella's sleeping form, I knew that it was dark outside—somewhere around 11:00 at night. Bella moved restlessly in her sleep, and I heard soft words falling from her lips.

"Edward . . ., " she murmured, lips moving almost dumbly. I smiled. Was she dreaming about me? I hoped so, though I knew I shouldn't. It would be so nice, so relieving, so complimenting, so dead-heart-warming to know she thought of me as much as I thought of her.

"Stay." I would be happy to comply. I never moved to touch her, didn't move to cradle her head in my cold hands. She was asleep, I would not do something so wrong. And I didn't know if I would be able to control myself against the electric sensation that rose and ran through me every time we touched in the slightest. It had gotten stronger, and I wondered what had caused that. It wasn't like I was complaining about it, however.

I don't know how much longer Bella slept. I remember Alice going out of the room and hearing snippets of conversation between her and the rest of the family.

"Where is Edward?"

" . . . my room . . . Bella . . . taking care . . . " Between each thread of words, Bella would drag in a long, slightly unsteady breath, and I would draw in my own ragged breathing of air, wondering if that wobbly breath she'd taken would be her last, though only a few moments later she exhaled and I relaxed, until she breathed in again. It fell into a sort of rhythm, and soon the conversation was only a background noise, last to Bella's murmurings and breathing.

"I don't see why he's so concerned about her. It's not like he took care of any of the other workers when they were sick. He's not even taking care of Earl Manning, who looks like he's going to die every minute." Rosalie was scoffing at the idea that me, who had showed no personal personal affection for her or any female, was now taking care of one. Emmett assumed something—love, he thought, love, and he was preparing to tease me about it. I would have to remember to avoid him.

"He's not exactly taking care of her, just watching over her. He doesn't want her to die, because she hasn't been here long at all, barely a day, and it saddens him to think that someone he saved just hours ago might die," Alice lied smoothly. It was not even half true, but at least it softened Rosalie a breath, and held Emmett off.

"'Watching over her'? What do you mean by that, Alice? It makes him sound like a guardian angel. Let me guess, he's sitting by her now, isn't he?"

"Rosalie, please calm down. I know it seems a bit of a surprise, but he really is trying to be careful. He won't hurt her. "

"We're all concerned, that's all," Carlisle pitched in. He was concerned—and hopeful. He hoped that, because I seemed to be paying attention to Bella, that there was a chance I might have found love at last .I wondered over that. I loved Bella on the outside—her scent, her beauty—but did I really know her on the inside? No. Had I ever had a conversation with her where she had spoken more than three words at a time? No. So I didn't feel it was right to love her, because how was I sure I just didn't love her because of her external features. But could I deny the electric pulse, the curiosity, the desire to know her?

It was all so confusing.

**Bella**

My head was throbbing, even in unconsciousness. I was aware of someone near me, I could hear soft voices, fading in and out, but I wasn't sure where I was. Why was I unconscious in the first place? I couldn't remember at all, it all seemed to draw a blank spot. How do you think while you're unconscious, anyway? And how do you remember things when you're not awake to remember them in the first place? How was I still so curious, even in deep blackness? I could feel the blackness slipping away then, but not revealing real light. There was only a picture, a picture and color, and I knew that I was dreaming.

In my dream, I was walking through the garden of the Cullen's' mansion. I was carrying a book—why I didn't know, maybe in this dream I could read, though it didn't seem at all likely because I usually dreamed about things that happened or were happening in real life—and I was walking down a stone lane, not quite sure where I was going, just walking and looking at the flowers. And then, there was a corner in the road. It seemed to grow suddenly farther away, even though I had the sense that I'd been walking for a long time. There was a figure standing there—I could see their outline, completely still against the misty black background that clouded further vision ahead. I reached out toward them, not knowing why but knowing that if I didn't there was a chance I might lose them. It seemed like they reached out for me too, but we couldn't reach each other, because no matter how far either of us walked, we couldn't seem to catch up.

That's when my dream started to haze over. It faded. becoming only an unclear memory as I felt my eyes opening. I wondered if I was in another dream or if I was actually waking up. I barely remembered passing out. The first sense to return to me was hearing—the sound of two people talking, though I could barely hear them; buzzes in the background of the brightening haze. I could smell something sweet, like candy, but with a strange mixture of silkiness to it. It also smelled sweet like fruit—I took deeper breaths, instinctively eager for pleasant smells. There was also something else—something slightly icy, but sweet. Not the same kind of candy sweet, but a gentler sort of sweet that no amount of scenting spray could compare to. My vision began to clear, until the whiteness faded and I saw colors in front of my eyes. There was pink—light, misty. And then there was black, and then white, and then dark brown, and I realized that I was in Alice's room. Relief washed and rolled like waves over me. I was so glad that Alice had found me—who knew what might've happened if one of the maids, or worse, other Cullens. had seen me. Alice was a friend, I thought, I could trust her to some extent. But as my vision cleared ,I realized that I was staring into the eyes of someone comfortingly familiar but at the same time shocking. Master Edward was sitting by Alice's bed, his eyes examining me, and I instantly felt embarrassed. I was probably a mess. I remember that every time I wake up from unconsciousness of any period of time, I always feel sleepy and groggy and my hair and face and clothes always look a mess. Despite the burst of insecurity at his presence, I did wonder why he was here. Had Alice told him that she'd found me? Maybe. Though I couldn't imagine why it would concern him at all.

"Bella. You're finally awake."

"What do you mean by finally awake?" I asked, as usual the grogginess making me blunt and a tad bit rude. I had gotten in trouble quite a few times for that before, but right now his presence was disorientating me to the point of barely caring. I wouldn't mind a beating, if he did it . . . I immediately banished myself from entertaining that thought. It was vulgar, and just stupid. I didn't even know why I'd thought of it. Just because he was handsome, impossibly so, didn't mean he was any less dangerous than other masters. Even though Courtney said the Cullens were nice, I didn't know just how far that kindness extended.

"You slept for 13 hours."

"Slept? 13 hours?" I asked, confused, before remembering the strange dream. Oh, so I was asleep when that happened. Duh. Not like you can daydream while you're fainted.

"Yes. I found you near the bathroom door . . . Alice brought you to her room so you could rest. I just sat here to make sure you were okay." It sounded like he was admitting a huge weakness by saying that, and I couldn't blame him. Any Master would die before being seen with a slave, let alone me. I smiled a bit, sadly, and nodded.

"Alice will run some bathwater for you and help you get dressed in clean clothes. I'll go down and get breakfast for you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I'm fine. I can do it myself. I don't want to bother you," I answered automatically.

"Alice would be happy to take care of you. It's just an excuse for her to babble on about her wardrobe to someone who had no choice but to listen .And you're her friend," he added when Alice came up to him, hands on hip.

"Yes! So then I'll get some water running and then I'll give you a good fixing up! I'll comb your hair, get you dressed, wash your face and everything after you get out of the bath!" I was so glad there was no mention of anyone bathing me. I would be so mortified. Alice bounced out of the room, and Master Edward laughed lightly, giving me a lopsided smile. I could feel my pulse speed up and my cheeks start warming, and I buried my face inside of the pillows to hide the dumb smile on my face. _So that's what smells like candy,_ I thought when the same candy-silk scent met my nostrils. Master Edward laughed again, and I felt him smiling at me, though I didn't turn my head to look, scared he would have the same strange effect on me.

"I'll leave you to Alice's wrath. I'm sure you're hungry, anyway, and Alice should be done with you by the time the chef finishes making your plate," he whispered before I heard a door closing. I sighed, thinking back to his smile, and giggling, surprising myself at the light, carefree sound emitting from my lips. I didn't even know why Master Edward had this effect on me. All I knew was that seeing him, having him in the same room, made me suddenly nervous and happy at the same time. And, thinking of his laugh again, I smiled, my lips stretching across the fabric of the pillow, slightly wrinkling it.

Why do I feel so happy?

_**What do you think? I made this one long, I know. And I know that Bella's OOC . . . she sounds like it, even to me. What do you think? Review! It makes the time between updates shorter!**_

3


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hi sorry for the time between updates . . . felt a bit sluggish after taking pop quizzes. I'm back, don't worry! So I thought I'd start to get a bit more into the story. Enjoy? Review? Please!!?**_

**Bella**

The day went by too quickly, in my opinion. I took a bath, then waited while Alice fixed my hair (despite her best efforts to straighten it a bit, it still wrapped into waves and curls) and lent me a blue dress to wear—my old one was ruined and dirty, and she couldn't find one to fit me right, then I went to Master Edward's room and cleaned up there for 2 hours (of course I finished way before I was supposed to leave for lunch, so I lingered around a bit until he said I could have a break). On my break, I talked to Lydia and Courtney (who were both extremely worried and relieved that I was awake again; word had gotten around about my fainting spell somehow) and then I went to lunch, which was an affair where everyone asked me questions. I met a few new people; Delacia, auburn hair and dark blue eyes and a fairly nice personality; Heather, dark black hair and pale green eyes, just as shy as me; Josephine or "Josie", light chestnut hair and gray eyes with a reserved sort of personality. The rest of the girls whose names I'd seen on the bathtubs remained a mystery.

After lunch, I had to clean the main downstairs, including the living room, parlor, kitchen, and dining room. There wasn't really a lot to do—mostly just dust, dirt, and a few things that were out of place. Other than that, the place seemed completely clean already. It was pretty monotonous to me, and the only really interesting thing is when I ran into a woman with reddish caramel hair who was dressed greatly—I assumed she was mistress of the house—in the dining room. She had the same butterscotch eyes that I noticed in Alice and Master Edward. It was strange, because they were not hazel, and yet they were not brown, either. I had never seen eyes colored like theirs before, and I wondered if there was something else to the color. Maybe it was just the light . . .

"Hello. You must be Bella." She greeted me, making me jump. She laughed a little, and I noticed that she had a really good smile. Her teeth were white and looked strangely sharp, though they were not pointed. I resisted the urge to shudder.

"Yes!" I curtseyed, hair falling in a mess over my shoulders. Of course I was embarrassed, a warm heat spread over my face and I looked down.

"I'm Esme. It's nice to meet you. A few of the maids and my daughter Alice and son Edward haven't stopped talking about you." So she was mistress. I was happy, she looked nice, the pure kind of nice that wasn't a mask. I could see myself liking her, if we were actually equals. I realized that she was waiting for a response to her statement and I pieced together words in my head ,letting them slip out of my mouth quickly after that.

"Yes, it's nice to meet you too, Mistress Esme. Lady Alice is very kind!" I smiled at the last comment, Alice was nice indeed. Though we weren't exactly best friends (well, maybe I was a best friend to her, but I really didn't consider anyone a best friend right now)

"She is. . . well, I'll leave you to your work." And then she gave me a hug and left. I was stunned. I blinked twice, raised an eyebrow, and let out a confused breath before a very slight half smile spread over my features.

After that pleasant encounter, I worked in the gardens. It was the only slow part of the day, and I was glad of that. While I was working, I observed all of the bright, beautiful flowers. There were so many—roses, snowdrops, geraniums peonies; all sweet smelling and colorful. I worked very carefully, not daring to hold a flower without making sure I used the least amount of force necessary. I pulled the weeds, watered the flowers, swiped away bugs, killed beetles and other garden pests, and then moved on to other parts of the garden. In the middle there was a large pond, with pale, clear water. There were cattails and water flowers and tall grass growing around it. I didn't have time to look at it more, because the sun, already beginning to set, signaled that it was time to go inside for dinner. I did, somewhat grudgingly, and decided to revisit the pond when I had more time—maybe if I finished work early some other day I could use a break to come and sit down and look at the garden and the pond more.

I took a bath at around 8:45, after everyone else was out the bathroom (I didn't like the idea of bathing with other people around me) and then went to bed early at 9:00. Of course, when I rested my head on the pillow, everyone else was still laughing and talking, but at that point I was too tired to really pay any mind and so I went to sleep despite the noise.

After that second day, time seemed to blur by. Most of the time, I couldn't even remember what day it was. Days passed in the same routine, and then weeks. It was becoming repetitive, and I wasn't happy about that fact. The more I fell into step with things, the longer it would take to adjust to a new routine when I was sold again. Despite the amount of trust everyone else seemed to put in the Cullens, I couldn't shake the feeling that one or another of them (most likely one I'd hadn't met yet; Mistress Esme, Master Edward, and Alice all proved to be nice) had some kind of evil core to them.

This suspicion was proved by a beautiful, golden blonde girl—with the same eyes, though hers seemed oddly darker than the others' eyes. In fact, the more time passed, the darker they're eyes seemed to get. I didn't ask, because there was a possibility that I'd gone crazy and was seeing things—didn't people go crazy from post traumatic stress, and grief? I'd had enough of both in my life to sustain hallucinations now.

The girl seemed intensely displeased with me, she seemed to even hate me, though we'd never met or talked before. Such a sudden, strange dislike, and by someone higher and more beautiful than I ever hoped to be, crushed any threads of self esteem I had left. It also brought up so much anger—how dare she detest me, when I'd done absolutely nothing wrong to her? But she did.

Every time I passed her in the hallway (which wasn't often to begin with) she gave me intense glares and guttural snarls. I shook with fear whenever I saw her. I think Master Edward was angry with her—once when I was passing her and she gave me the evil eye while he was there, he growled at her—I don't think I was meant to hear, but I did anyway. I wondered if I had caused some kind of family conflict. My cheeks tinted with shame whenever I considered this. Could I go _anywhere_ without causing some kind of problem?

I already knew the answer: Of course not.

**Edward**

Rosalie was getting on my very last nerves. There was no reason at all for her to hate Bella—and yet she did, so much that it startled me. Rosalie had always hated anything that drew attention away from her, and this hatred was accelerated in Bella's case because she was the only maid I paid any particular attention to, and Rosalie hated me to because I'd never wanted her in any sort of way.

Jasper, Emmett and Carlisle hadn't met Bella yet, though they'd heard about her and were curious, but unlike Rosalie they showed no particular dislike to her. Emmett teased me to no end—he saw the way I looked at Bella sometimes or talked about her with fondness, and took his chance to tease me, since he rarely got anything to taunt me with. Carlisle was excited; thinking that perhaps there was hope in me finding interest in women after all, and Jasper was . . . Jasper was Jasper.

Alice was growing irritated with me because I hardly talked to Bella—though I couldn't really be blamed, I couldn't find anything to talk about, and I didn't know how to start a conversation with her. Alice said that Bella was definitely interested in me, but I doubted it—and what did that change? She wasn't making any attempt at striking up a conversation, I was too shy to and too clueless to know how besides, and so we remained on about square one.

"All you have to do is find an excuse to talk to her. Observe her—see what she likes, and then start a conversation over it. Maybe you could even find some way to bond while doing what she likes. It's simple. really, you're just too dumb to know." She added the last part to annoy me, I'm sure, but I was too caught up in her first suggestions to really respond. What Bella liked—finding out wasn't too hard, I could just read it through one of her friends' mind.

This proved to be a challenge—Bella hadn't really talked about what she enjoyed doing, and most maids that were considered her friends didn't work around the same schedule, so they really didn't even notice anything. I would have to ask Alice to ask her—it was that or risk watching Bella myself, and I honestly didn't know if I would be able to resist jumping out at her and hugging her just to feel the warm electric pulsing that radiated through me when we touched, even in the slightest. It was getting even stronger, it seemed. Whenever I passed by Bella in close proximity, there seemed to be a very faint tingling in the air—of course I could be wrong, but I didn't think it was impossible given the wordless connection that seemed to snap between us like puzzle pieces already.

Days, weeks, had passed since I'd spoken more than one word to Bella. She did work in my room for two hours every day, and most people would have taken that chance to talk. But it seemed so awkward talking to her while she was working. No, I wanted to talk to her while she wasn't on a time limit, where she wasn't preoccupied by anything. It just seemed like it would be more enjoyable. Alice, already seeing what I wanted to ask her, told me that she'd ask when she next got time to see Bella.

Now I just had to wait for Alice's answer. Time seemed to tick by ever so slowly, just to infuriate me with impatience. Finally, literal hours later ,Alice bounced back into my room. I didn't even greet her properly, just asked her for Bella's answer. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, what a nice way to greet your sister."

"Sorry, Alice. Just curious and impatient—time was really slow," I told her.

"Alright, Bella likes the garden outside, and I think she might like other natural things of beauty like the sunset, oceans, flowers, the sunrise, insects, animals, things like that., insects, animals, things like that. And I don't think she knows how to read, either—she didn't really seem to understand the written schedule I gave her. So there. You owe me, by the way."

"Thank you Alice. I appreciate it, really. And just ask me for a favor whenever you think of one." She nodded happily, then skipped out to go find Jasper. Now I was left on my own to use the information she gave me. I suppose time must have been on my side for just this once, because I saw on my watch that it was 3:30—Bella should be in the garden now. I hurried outside, ignoring Rosalie's sneers and the other queries of my family members. I was eager to see Bella—maybe a bit too eager, considering the barrier that guarded any kind of real relationship, but I figured that I could make a friendship, at the very least.

"Bella!" I called when I saw the familiar figure near a patch of roses. She looked up, blushed, and then looked down again. I half hesitated, wondering if perhaps that was a sign that she didn't want to talk. But I decided against turning around, not wanting to be a coward and also not wanting to lose the will to approach her. I walked nearer, until I was about a foot away, and then smiled at her a bit.

"Master Edward—is there anything I can do for you?" The smile she gave was a bit forced, and I worked to keep the composed expression on my face in place.

"No, I just came out here to look at the flowers." Not even a lie, she was the brightest, most spectacular flower in the bunch. Something about my comment made her constant blush deepen, and I wanted desperately to read her mind. Frustration was winning over as the familiar wall blocked my access. Frustration was winning over as the familiar wall blocked my came out here to talk, I reminded myself. You can't get irritated now, when you're starting to make the beginnings of progress.

"Oh. So you like the garden?" She looked up at me for a second, then quickly looked back down when she realized that I was staring at her, too.

"Yes. It's very nice, isn't it? Esme really loves these flowers."

"This is Mistress Esme's garden? It's wonderful. I like it. The snowdrops, the roses, the geraniums. They're all very bright and pretty, aren't they? Like something out of a fairytale, they are." _No, you're something out of a fairytale, more like it._ I bit the slightly flirtatious comment back and instead responded with something more appropriate for the direction of the conversation.

"Yes—I didn't know you liked flowers. Did you care for any gardens at other houses?" I asked, meaning for it to be casual, common, but she winced very suddenly and regret burned into my mind. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course that was the wrong thing to ask._

"No, not really," she replied curtly, and her tone seemed to close the conversation. I scrambled to keep up, to find something else to say before there was nothing to salvage. I wasn't satisfied yet—I wanted to talk more. I reached out to gently touch her shoulder, causing her head to snap up. Ah, the feelings tingling up my spine right now. . .

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." She looked up at me for a few moments, then gently rested one of her small, soft hands on mine, still resting on her shoulder. The action was hesitant; I could see the tension in her body, the way her hand rested only gently, completely ready to pull away. Her expression was so cautious, so guarded, as if she expected me at any moment to hurt her.

What had the people in her life before me done to her?

**Bella**

I lifted a hand to rest on his. I didn't even think about it before it was already done. It was instinctive, and that I didn't warm up to well. I looked up at him with a wary expression on my face, afraid that he would hit me or making such physical contact, despite how friendly he'd been. His question—and his apology—still lingered in the air. He had sounded so sincere that I couldn't help but be drawn in, even though I didn't want to be. The electric pulse that ran through me as our skin made contact, amputated by my the touching being more than one-sided, wasn't helping my resolve any.

"It's okay," I said, looking down, finally remembering what he'd said just moments before—the thoughts that had ran through my mind had taken only seconds to pass.

"I'm sorry. Really." I bit my lip. The pain was still so fresh in my mind—the memory of happier days, of being a toddler following my mother around while she ran around in the garden, bumblebees buzzing around her, attracted by her honey-flower like scent. The contrast of that and the situation I was in now, though it was pleasant at the moment, etched pain into me, seeming to leave a mark right in my head and my heart.

"It's fine," I said, still looking away, though I didn't take my hand off of his. This was delaying my work, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to care.

"I'll give you a tour of the garden, if you will just accept my apology."

"Why are you even apologizing in the first place?" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the pain that would surely accompany my bold outburst. It never came, and I opened my eyes, one by one, to see that his expression was furious and yet saddened at the same time. His eyes held most of the emotion, and being so trapped in them, I couldn't help but notice that they were becoming darker. They were now a dark sort of brown mixed with very faint hints of gold. It was so curious, the eyes that seemed to change, and I wanted to ask, just to know if I was hallucinating or not. But I didn't. Of course I didn't.

"Everyone is supposed to apologize when they've hurt someone, aren't they?"

"Well, that's what I was told by my—by my mother, but not one of my masters has ever apologized before this. I was . . . surprised."

"Well, I'm apologizing now—won't you accept it?" He leaned in closer, his breath whirling around my face, his eyes smoldering, and I lost coherency for a moment before words tumbled off my lips.

"Sure. It's accepted."

"Great—would you like your tour now?"

"I'm actually working now . . ."

"Tomorrow, then." His words held regret in them, and I was assuming that he wanted to do the tour today—maybe just to get it over with. Either way, I was sure there was a slight droop in his step when he walked away. I touched my shoulder a bit where his hand had been, wondering if it was really as hot as it felt. I blushed at my foolish interest—it was much too silly to be flustered by him, when I had only really talked to him outside of work related things this once.

Still, I couldn't help looking forward to tomorrow, for once in my life.

**Edward**

I walked away, slightly disappointed. I wanted to spend more time with her today—I didn't want to wait. Hadn't I waited for weeks now? All I wanted to do was run back to her and pull her up into my arms, smell her hair, kiss her lips, touch her soft, creamy skin—but I didn't, and I wouldn't. The gesture was socially forbidden in the first place, and worse than that, my inhuman strength would crush her if I for one second acted to fast or tightened my grip too much. And I didn't understand the feelings myself. She was so amazing to me—yet I'd known her for barely three weeks. I longed to see her every day—though I'd seen her face only weeks before.

It was all so, so confusing. And the worst part was knowing that she didn't have the same feelings. She was confusing, so up and down, like ocean waves.

And yet, she was the only thing I ever wanted to go back to.

_**What do you think? Did I rush things a bit too fast? Oh ,and some people might be wondering exactly why Bella fainted, she fainted from stress, something like that. I know she wasn't exactly under stress at the time, but just go along with it: she has a painful past, she's overcome with grief on the inside etc. Leave a review, please! Link to the blue dress on my profile.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Hi, thanks for the reviews! Also thanks to my loyal reviewers who've reviewed on just about every chapter from the beginning—your encouragement has really helped! Lol I know I sound like I'm really far into the story, but I'm about to enter the teens of the chapters where a little bit of action and emotion and mystery starts, so yeah. Enjoy Chapter 8!**_

**Bella**

It was absolutely ridiculous, I tell you. Absurd, preposterous it was. But then again, that was Alice, always one for any excuse to dress up. So right now I was sitting in her chair while she picked out clothes for me. She was preparing me to go on my tour of the garden with Master Edward—which was crazy, because it was only a tour, nothing special—or at least that's what my outside mind continued to protest; my inner mind, the hopeful, silly one was happy that I would look nice near Master Edward.

Well, at least Alice had waited until I was done with all of my morning work. Dressing me up in the morning would have been crazier, because I would have gotten whatever dress she gave me dirty. I still didn't see why she insisted that I would look nice in sea foam green. I didn't protest, mostly because I knew from three weeks experience that Alice was a very obstinate person when it came to apparel. I had already taken a bath, so the procedure took less time. She sent me to the bathroom to put the dress on, and I was a more than a little self conscious when I looked at myself in one of the mirrors—the dress was a little tight around my chest and stomach. Alice washed my face when I got back, filed my nails, then did my hair, fixing it in a messy sort of braided bun with strands hanging loosely around my collarbone and neck. Alice said I looked wonderful—and that made me smile a bit; the compliment was coming from someone who looked more breath taking than I could picture in my mind—the same kind of beautiful as the blonde girl, but in a different sort of way.

"I see you're tending to _Bella _ again, Alice," an icy voice sneered, and I turned around to see who it was that had entered ,though I already knew. The same blonde girl from before was standing in the doorway, lips turned into a sneer. Alice, turned also with hands still resting on my hair, rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Rosalie, I am. I see you're still starving for attention." Rosalie looked taken aback for a moment, then her eyes, brighter than they'd been when I'd last seen her, darted to me then to Alice, a furious shine in them.

"Well, Alice, I just hope you know what you're doing. After all, you wouldn't want to hurt Edward's little object of attention, would you? I'm sure he wouldn't like for his pet to be harmed." She smiled smugly when she saw Alice's jaw clench. Then she flipped her long blonde curls and left. Alice began to clean up in stormy silence.

"Alice? What was Lady Rosalie saying about . . . me being Master Edward's object of attention?" I asked when curiosity took over. Alice looked up from where she was tidying up the vanity, and her bright golden eyes seemed to be shifty.

"Ignore Rosalie. I do. She's always been one to . . . grab the attention of others, and it irks her when she's not the center of everyone's view. Edward hasn't paid much attention to her, really, and it annoys her that he's talking more to you since you arrived."

"But why would she want Master Edward to pay a lot of attention to her, if they're brother and sister? Does she mean that Master Edward never shows her any familial affection?" I asked shyly, with curiosity burning behind my words. I was eager to learn more about Master Edward—there was no harm in that, was it; learning more about the person I was working for, learning what irritated them?

"Well, it's hard to explain. We're all adopted—Esme and Carlisle took all of us in. And my other brother, Emmett, is with Rosalie—they're a couple, and so is Jasper—that's the third boy in the family, and I. Esme is our adopted mother and Carlisle is our adopted father. I think you'll like Carlisle, whenever you meet him. Esme met you a few weeks ago, I think, and since then she's been eager to see you again. So, that's the story of our family—here comes Edward know, so it would happen. Have fun on your tour!" She pushed me out the door with that last goodbye, leaving me to process the information, and sure enough I saw Master Edward walking down the hall towards me. His eyes looked strangely dark, and his jaw was set. His shoulders were moving a bit as if he was breathing, but his stomach didn't match the rhythm. He was looking at me strangely, and I felt my heart sink and my eyes widen with confusion.

What was going on?

**Edward**

I walked down the hallway towards Alice's room, and I was hit with the same bone crushingly sweet smell. I felt my muscles freeze. It was so foolish to have not gone hunting last night, when I knew that the need to was getting stronger—plus I'd known that I was going to be pretty much alone with her today. Alice had suggested taking a good hunt, but like an idiot I had declined. Now it was too late. I had to go through with it or risk her thinking that I had gone back on my promise—putting me behind square one.

She was standing there, looking beautiful, as usual. Her pale skin was emphasized with sea-foam green, and her hair was pulled into a braided bun with a few loose strands framing her face. He brown eyes were wide when they observed my face, and I realized that my jaw was set. I worked to relax it, making sure that in doing so I took no unintentional breath. If I was going to get through being alone with her, with her delectable scent, I was going to have to keep breaths spare. I pulled my lips into a strained but sincere smile and walked a bit faster. She smiled a bit in response and stepped forward, worrying her hands a bit. I turned my head a bit, pretending to scratch my neck, and quickly took a breath of "clean" air.

"Bella. How are you?" I saw her shift a bit, a bit of a satisfied smile curving on her rose lips, and then she responded, half tripping over her words.

"I'm very good. Thank you for asking," she said politely. Ah, always so courteous. Hardly ever a word out of place—she sounded like she was a robot, trained to say all of the right things. It irritated me; I wanted to hear what she really thought, not what she thought she was supposed to say.

"You're welcome. I suppose we should go and start the tour now." I wasn't quite sure what the proper gesture would be, so I just turned and began to walk down the stairs and towards the front door. She followed me; her legs were shorter than mine and so she had to walk briskly to catch up. She stumbled quite a few times, and I slowed down once we were outside. She paused for a few moments, bit her lip, and then looked up at me.

"Thank you for giving me this tour . . .," she murmured timidly, a very soft smile forming on her lips. It was harder, then, not to lean forward and crush her in my excitement, not to bend down and touch my lips to hers, just to see how it would feel. I bit down hard on my lips, reminding myself that my feelings and desires were completely out of line, and then responded to keep my mind from straying further away from reality.

"You're welcome. It's no problem. So these are the brightest flowers here; the birds of paradise, the alstroemerias, the cockscombs, the delphinum, the freesia," I smiled when I saw those, they were now one of my favorites, "the gladiolus, the ixia, the larkspur, the mini carnations." She looked amazed as she looked over all the flowers that I pointed to, running her hands over the leaves, stroking the petals so gently that I felt hot envy pool in my chest. It was ridiculous, to be jealous of a flower. But oh, how I longed to be the one who she touched so gently, so sweetly. It was so wrong to feel that way about a human, but Bella was just so beautiful, so lovable, that I couldn't help it.

"They're so beautiful—better than beautiful, spectacular; magnificent."She seemed to be talking more to herself than me. A smile twitched at the corners of my mouth; seeing her happy was so good for me, considering how broken she seemed.

"Esme loves them, like they're her own little babies." She bit her lip a bit, and then turned, and while she wasn't looking I took a deep inhale of the flowers to escape having to breathe in her scent too much. It worked, the various smells blended and hit my nose painfully strong, covering all other smells. We moved on then to the darker flowers, which she stared at and touched as if she couldn't believe she were really seeing them. She bent down to sniff each one, eyes sparking with the love of someone who'd just been enraptured, and I declared that I'd give her a bouquet of flowers from this very garden.

We went on the tour like that, with me pointing out flowers and telling her the names of each one. I had the urge to hold her hand, but resisted, not sure how she would react—or how my control would hold up; I already had to face the flowers to take breaths of air for talking, and feeling the warmth of her on my skin would destroy whatever effort I'd put into not smothering her. The tour ended soon—I was torn with emotion; part of me was happy that I got to leave to hunt, and part of me wished I'd had more time.

"It was lovely. Thank you. I really appreciate you taking the time to show me the whole garden. I need to go inside now, good-night." And then she hurried away, back inside the house, glancing over her shoulders a few times before disappearing.

Some part of me screamed out in emptiness when she left.

**Bella**

I felt strangely empty when I left him, though some part of me was relieved that it was over. I had felt so self conscious and scared the whole time; I had been so worried that I would do something wrong and that his kindness would disappear to reveal a monster ready to torture me. I was also sad that the time was over—though I couldn't really explain that. I went back into the eating room, where everyone was looking at me. I blushed, looking down. Of course they would want to know where I'd disappeared to—usually I was first to dinner, today I was twenty minutes late, according to the dreaded clock. Lydia and Courtney bounced up to begin their interrogation, and a few other of the maids; Heather and Delacia, followed their example mercilessly.

"Where were you?"

"What took so long?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Did you fall asleep or something?"

"Are you feeling faint again?"

"Where'd you get that dress from?"

"Who did your hair?"

"Why do you smell like flowers?"

"Are you going to answer these questions?" I only answered the last one, asked by Heather, right away.

"Yes, I will: I was in the garden, I was late because Master Edward was giving me a tour, I'm feeling fine, no I didn't fall asleep, I'm not feeling faint, Lady Alice gave me the dress, Lady Alice did my hair, and I was walking around in flowers for nearly three hours, so of course I smell like them." They were all satisfied momentarily; their questions were answered, but they didn't stop there.

"Oh, you're so lucky! Master Edward has never given us a tour of anything—he's barely even talked to us! And Lady Alice never did any of our hair or gave us clothes! How did you get on their good side?"

"Did you already know them?"

"Did you do something really great?"

"No, and no. I came here just like the rest of you—I'm as surprised! I'm sure I haven't really done anything in particular to get on their good side. I'm just as curious as you are to find out why they're being so nice to me. Now can I please eat dinner?" They consented, but I could still see the curiosity burning in their eyes. I sighed, knowing that it was eating away at me, too. I just didn't know what to do about it. And then, when I went to bed that night, there in the darkness where it was easier to think, to imagine, I dreamed of so many things—of Master Edward, of Alice, of roses, of red ribbons, of books, and mostly, of penetrating color—so much color, on a struck black canvas. My lids danced with the pictures, and my body relaxed in my own personal world of peace.

More time passed. More intense glares from Lady Rosalie came. More visits to Alice, more being her personal model, more questions from my other friends. More time in the garden, more smelling the flowers, more joking around with my friends, more laughter than I'd ever done in life. And there was more of Master Edward coming to talk to me in a way that seemed to have a strange sort of indecisive kind of desire in it. And there was more happiness, more of enjoyment, and more of not being able to wait to see Master Edward again, to examine his face, to try and see if he felt the electricity I always felt vibrating between us, to see if he was as foolishly excited as I was.

And that, of anticipation, was good, better than any feelings I'd ever known. Could life here really be that great, even when I was a slave?

**Edward**

I looked for her every day. Every day, I stayed in my room waiting for the two hours when we could be together routinely, only going out before then if absolutely necessary. When she was at lunch, I made sure to pass by the eating room often, to see her face and hear her talking—I know it counted as an invasion of privacy; there might be some things she talked about with her friends that she didn't mean to know, but I was reaching the end of my patience at not being able to read her mind. So every day I drank that low, sweet voice into my ears, letting the smell invade my nostrils after I'd hunted. I was obsessed ,and it was absolutely out of hand.

On top of that, I spent more time in the garden just to talk to her, have brief snatches of conversation. Each time a strange expression would cross her face, but she never seemed particularly uncomfortable—at least, not in a bad way that I could see—and so I figured that a good thing, and kept to my routine.

By the end of a month, I was completely obsorbed in her—much to the disliking of part of myself and some of my family members. Carlisle didn't understand how I could be so caught up in a human girl, Rosalie still sneered with her usual shallow dislike of Bella, and Jasper believed that it was quite a test on my self control and very silly to follow a human girl around like a little lost kitten. I tried to ignore all of those voices, but they nagged at me constantly, and sometimes I drew back, so grudgingly, from my obsessing to satisfy them.

It was so frustrating—I wanted to be involved in Bella, wanted to know her, but there were so many things stopping me. I was immortal—so much stronger than her; she was so breakable, so crushable. And she didn't even know I felt that way, nor did I see her showing signs of personal interest in me. And someday she would die, it was inevitable—what would I do then? These questions brought a sudden grip of despair every time I looked at her, admired her, and I drew back into my room to grieve. Rosalie wouldn't leave me alone, of course.

"Edward. Let me talk to you," she said one of those sulking days , opening the door without knocking and moving to sit down. I scowled at her, hoping she saw that I didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone her. Being as tenacious as she was, I'm sure she saw it and chose to ignore it to go on with whatever she'd come here to say.

"It's so foolish—I think it, Jasper thinks it, and I know that some part of you thinks it. She's just a human, and one that's not anything special or pretty, at that. Sure, she smells good, but you don't see anyone else walking around behind her every step like you do. It's pitiful, and it's putting us in danger—just imagine if this ended badly, if for one moment you weren't able to control yourself. I won't be hurt because of you and that stupid little girl that you obsess over!" The last part was yelled, and I could feel my own temper rising.

"Don't you dare speak that way about Bella!" I sat up blindingly fast, half clenched in a fist. I had half a mind to grab her throat and rip it out in sheer anger. That might not be a wise decision—Emmett wouldn't like it if I killed his wife. But maybe if I could just manage to escape into the woods—bring Bella with me, of course—then I'd be able to hold out somewhere. Hmm . . ., I considered the possibility of that.

_Don't you dare do that Edward! _ Alice's mind invaded my contemplation; of course she'd seen me planning. _You and I both know that that wouldn't be good at all; Emmett would never forgive you, Esme would be scarred, and no one knows how Bella would react . . . _

I sighed, unclenched my fist, and realized that Rosalie was speaking again.

"It's not fair to us Edward. Not fair that you put us in danger with that little human girl. Get your head back on your shoulders—and by the way, you precious little human is coming now, so you might want to keep your expression in check!" And with that she left. I growled half inaudibly, cursing Rosalie to whatever was lower than Hell before straightening up my face. If Bella was coming, off schedule, then I didn't want to mess anything up.

The door peeked open a few minutes later, and a head peeped in. Long hair tumbled in messy curls, and the same dark eyes with their own light behind them scanned my face before her whole figure stepped in, slowly.

"Master Edward—Lady Alice said you might want to see me?" I was going to have to thank—or kill—my sister for this later. I was temporarily lost for words, not quite sure what to say. Realizing that she was waiting for me to say something, I tried to piece together an explanation as quickly as I could.

"Yes, well I was just wondering if you were okay to take off two weeks after this Saturday—the house will be clean enough anyway, and most of us won't be leaving our rooms for a while. We really won't need you guys to clean, so you can take off that day."

"Thank you. I will. Is there . . . anything else?" She seemed hopeful, and I tried to think of something worth telling her. There wasn't anything else I could think of, besides something else Alice had said—about Bella not being able to read or write. Well, it was a fallback for me to spend some more time with her, and reading and writing was important. I could teach her how to do both, do her two favors—and myself a big one, as well. I formed the plan easily, making it up as the words fell off my lips.

"Yes, actually, I was just wondering if you knew how to read—or write. Were you taught by anyone . . . ?"

"Um, one person tried to teach me, but she didn't finish." There was a pained expression on her face, and before I could think about that she went on. "I don't remember anything else about it now."

"Would you like to learn—it's actually vital that you do."

"Sure, maybe Heather or Delacia could teach me . . ." she trailed off, seeming to be thinking about something else. She was thinking of her friends, of course. I paused for a brief moment, then went on while I had the will to suggest it.

"I could teach you, if you liked. We could start whenever you wanted." She was taken aback, it was obvious on her face, and then her expression changed into one of—pleasure? mixed with slight reproach. She didn't hesitate to speak however, and I realized that in being so focused on her expression that I had missed a few of her words.

" . . . sure that would be very generous of you, I'd love to . . . " I smiled, allowing myself happiness at being able to spend more time with her—my family couldn't willingly complain, could they, if I was teaching her something? And Rosalie might finally get off of my case—the chances were slim, but it didn't hurt to hope.

"Alright, then. I'm sure that's all . . . oh, and Bella?" She turned, halfway to the door. I stood up from my bed, waking over to her and leaning in a bit, feeling the hot rush of her breath against my skin, smelling that same intoxicating scent. She looked startled, and I pulled my lips into a slightly lopsided smile.

"Have a good day." Then I pulled back and watched her leave, her steps even clumsier than usual. I laughed, just an airy chuckle, before Alice came in.

"So, you should thank me now!"

"For what?"

"For getting you extra time with Bella! I'm sure you wouldn't have talked to her again for weeks if I hadn't intervened."

"Exactly."

"Oh, come on Edward! Don't mind Rosalie or Jasper. Their just concerned about the family and you, that's all. And don't try to deny what I say now: You care about Bella. A lot," she said. I frowned, displeased at having her corner me like this. If I said yes, she'd continue to push me and Bella together—something that I was sure might end badly if done too much. And if I said no, she'd assume just the opposite and would call me overly defensive, pestering me about it constantly, twisting everything I said. Ah, a catch-22. How to get out of it?

"Well, yes . . . ," Her expression turned smug," but I don't see why. And I don't think she feels the same way, so it's a lost cause already. It doesn't matter anyway—it isn't like anything will result of it."

"Are you _blind, _Edward? Any idiot could see that she likes you, too. She asks about you—just like you ask about her—and her tone is so interested! Come on, Edward, don't you see?"

"There's nothing to see, Alice," I said coolly, wanting more than anything to be alone so I could process what she was proposing.

"Yes there is! Oh, you'll see. Just wait. You'll see!" And so she left, slamming the door behind her. I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and shook my head .Alice was wrong .If Bella asked about me, it was only out of curiosity at my actions, not me myself; there was no way she noticed, admired me as much as I did her. Bella was magnificent. And I was a monster.

What was there to think about? There was no way that Bella could feel anything for me.

Period.

_**Ok, so I wanted to get a little bit of a head start in the romance. What did you think? Review, I promise I'll try to reply to any feedback or questions. And, I will update faster if:**_

_**I receive at least 7 reviews for this chapter. **_

_**I have at least 2 reviews (not included in the seven) including feedback.**_

_**All reviews must include why you liked the chapter and what you would like to see in chapters to come. **_

_**Please? I'm not really asking for that much, considering how many people have hit this story, favorite it, story alerted it, etc. Thanks to all my loyal reviewers and favoriters, by the way! And so, I'm off to write chapter 9 while I wait for my conditions to be filled. Read on!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hi! Thanks to everyone for the reviews, and I will try to fill each one of the future chaps requests. Read on! And I need at least 9 for this chapter, including at least 2 with feedback, all must have future plot points. Please? Well, anyway, enjoy chapter 9!**_

**Bella**

I was glad for the day to be over. I was tired from working and walking around, particularly in the garden, and my mind was exhausted from wondering over Master Edward's undeniable friendliness—and the way he leaned in that time without inch of hesitation. It made me wonder if he felt like I did, foolishly obsessed. I doubted it, and part of my mind hoped that he didn't. Knowing that he felt as attracted to me as I did to him—pointlessly and socially outlawed—would make it harder to keep my already thinning defensive walls in place.

That night, I had trouble sleeping. While all the other girls were content to stay up talking and laughing and then rest in peaceful snores, I stayed awake, quilt tucked around me, muscles restless. I couldn't keep anything off my mind for long to relax. There was Master Edward, the mystery him and his actions presented, the strange eye changing thing—which I noticed that his eyes were lighter than before—and then my own personal problems, such as my life. I had enough painful things behind me, didn't I? Didn't that justify being closed for fear of more pain, more rejection? It sounded like I was trying to reassure myself that it was okay more than anyone else.

Oh god, there was an electric tingling. I swore it was. It trembled up my spine, sending sudden waves up my limbs. It was maddening, and I was sure it was some kind of delusion. There was absolutely no way that Master Edward was here now—from thinking about him so much, and because of my exhausted no sleep situation, my mind had shut down from exhaustion. It made me so restless; I tossed and turned multiple times. When it began to grow stronger, I decided that I couldn't take it. I got up and went over to the window, kneeling in front of it and pressing my face up to the glass. The moon was full in the sky, and my face blocked the ray of moonlight it'd cast. Now, I let my eyes drink in everything—the bright light, the circle of a moon, the dark contrast of the sky, the sounds of the nocturnal animals, the outlines of trees and bushes and plants. Pretty soon, my eyelids drooped, and I felt myself beginning to be lulled asleep by the nightly calls of the insects and animals. I went back to my bed, lying back under the covers and closing my eyes, letting myself fall into slumber.

In my dreams, I was floating. There were so many colors—white, black, red, pink, yellow, purple—and pictures—mostly of my friends. Of Alice, of Lydia, of Courtney, of Heather, of Delacia, of Josie. And there were pictures of Master Edward—these held the brightest, best colors. I floated through them, reaching my hand out to touch each one, watching them melt into flowers and candy as I brushed them with my fingers.

And then, there was blackness. As I continued to float, blackness consumed me. The colors began to fade, and I felt myself screaming—screaming for someone to save me, screaming for someone to help. I drowned in the blackness, and I couldn't escape. So much pressure, so much weight, closing in . . . .

I woke in a cold sheen of sweat, jolting up from the bed. Looking around, I realized that all of the other beds were empty. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and went over to the window. The gesture reminded me of something else, something from my past, and I closed my eyes, trying to shut the memory out.

_I was standing by the window, my tiny hand resting against the pane. In another room, I could hear soft murmurings—I knew that my father and the doctor were talking. I drowned them out, determined not to hear the next round of diagnosis. Mother, Renee, was going to die. I knew it. She got weaker every day, and all I could do was watch, and suffer as my father took his grief out on me._

_I looked out the window in my nursery, watching the way the sunlight danced across the land I had a perfect view of. It was the garden, and I could see the tall flowers swaying like dancer in the wind. I smiled, enjoying the moment of piece while it lasted, knowing that as soon as the doctor left the pain would begin._

_I heard the sound of talking, louder now, and knew that they were saying goodbye. My father was saying "thank you, doctor" and my mother was smiling ever so weakly, knowing as well as anyone that the doctor was wrong in his hope. That she was going to die. Moments later, after a door closed downstairs and I saw the doctor's tall figure, topped with light blonde hair leaving, the sound of my father's ominous footsteps began. I didn't try to hide. It would only make it worse. So I turned myself from the window, closed my eyes, and waited._

"_You filthy homely thing! Do you know what the doctor said? He said that it was going to be great luck if you mother survives! And it's all your fault!" He slapped me on the last part, and I felt warm liquid beginning to seep out of the corner of my lip. I didn't ask how it was my fault, didn't tell him he was wrong. I had learned ,the hard way, not to speak while he was beating me unless he asked me a direct question._

"_Open your eyes!" I did, unwillingly, and felt something hard smack into my face, knocking me back against the window frame. My nose bled, and I began to feel dizzy. I could smell it, the rust and salt, and it made my head spin until the walls moved out of place. He wasn't done. He continued, kicking me and cussing at me until he got tired. I could only lay there and cry, while outside, the sky began to darken and rain began to fall, pattering against the window, now abandoned._

_And for a second, I thought I felt a drop of rain against my lips, falling through the closed window._

When I snapped out of the memory, my hand was over my mouth, tears pouring down my face, wetting my cheeks. The tears were not completely of sadness. They were mostly from hatred, fiery and intense. God how I hated him—how I hated all men. _Except one,_ my mind protested, but right then, I was too angry to think anymore. I stomped down to breakfast, ignoring any stares I got. I had so many regrets now—and it was all his fault!

I was late, and barely any food was left. It reminded me of the times I snuck down after meals to take some of my father's scraps. I began to nibble on a piece of bread, eyebrows drawn in an expression of fury. The table was empty, all the other maids having gone out to do their work. I was the only one, alone again. The slight scraping of a chair brought me out of my angry daze, and I looked over to the sound .Alice was sitting down with a honey blonde boy who looked like he was in pain—I wasn't sure exactly who he was, but assuming by the way they held hands and seemed to have an unspoken connection, I assumed he was Jasper, Alice's spouse.

"Bella! I just wanted to introduce you to Jasper." I knew it. I gave him a very slight smile which I was sure was distorted, due to my anger with all men at the moment. He looked confused, as if he could feel the anger, and I felt calm wave over me suddenly. I was bewildered, but embraced it readily. He looked relieved, though he still looked in pain. Alice went on, not seeming to notice or used to the look if she did.

"It's nice to meet you, Sir Jasper." He nodded, reaching out to shake my hand. I did so, giving him my own weak shake before pulling back—his hands were cold. I suppose Alice's were, too. And so were Master Edward's—but then again, his carried the electricity that made his touch feel so warm. But it was so strange, because his hands were frigid even though it was fairly warm inside.

"You too, Bella. Alice has talked wonders about you, and it's good to finally meet you—Edward has been obsessing over you." His face looked abruptly as if he'd revealed too much, and I wondered about that. The last part interested me in particular; Master Edward obsessing over _me?_ He confused me, he, and none of his family acted like they should. I felt my face drawing a bit, and quickly straightened it out.

"Oh. Thanks." Alice took forward again, enthusiastic smile on face.

"Well, I have more news! I found out about your off day, and I was wondering if you'd just like to go to a market with me on that day. Wouldn't it be so fun? We could get so many good things!" I could tell she would be looking for clothes in particular on this little outing. It didn't sound like a bad idea, really. I was eager to get out and see the town. And being somewhere away from Master Edward would certainly help my thoughts stray from him. So I smiled, excited as she was, and replied honestly.

"I'd love to—it'd be great to see the town. I'm sure we could leave early, so we could catch sales before they're wiped out." She grinned, shrieked something about that being "so perfect" and then went off with Sir Jasper. He gave me a smile, but his eyes still looked pained. I sighed after they left, got up, and went for my shift in Master Edward's room. Today was Thursday, as fate would have it. Glorious, I tell you.

When I opened the door, Master Edward was sitting at a large mahogany desk. There was a book open, and a few sheets of paper. He was twirling a pen with the long fingers of his left hand, and in front of him a book was sitting open. I was confused for a moment, and then he spoke.

"Won't you come sit down?" He flashed a smile, and I felt my heart speeding up .I was sure that I was blushing. I stepped forward, tripping on my own feet, and grabbing the back of the chair for support. Electricity—so much. I looked up, realizing that one of his hands was on my arm near my elbow. Those topaz eyes held the strangest look of concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes searching my face. I straightened up at his words, and the tingling awareness left as Master Edward's arm withdrew. I wanted to touch him again, but wasn't sure what to do about it. Instead I pulled the chair out and sat down, trying to scoot as close to him as subtly possible. I know that doing this wasn't going to help me keep my walls up, to help me stay guarded, but I couldn't regret it. Not while I was with him.

"I'm sorry, was there something you needed to talk about?" I couldn't remember him mentioning anything important for today, but obviously he expected me to, because he raised an eyebrow. I racked my brain, trying to remember any conversations we'd had yesterday, but there was mostly fog. I wondered how I could forget, when I obsessed over him so much?

"Didn't you agree yesterday to me teaching you how to read?" he asks, and I remembered being in his room yesterday, talking to him. Oh. Was that what we were talking about then? I wasn't sure, but I decided to take his word. I didn't remember allowing myself permission to trust him, a man, and that bothered me. What if I began to do other things without my own permission? I bit back my worry as I responded.

"Oh—yes! I forgot. Thank you, for teaching me." I said quickly, tacking on the thank you automatically. It was a rule: always thank everybody for everything. At least, it was a rule I had learned from my father.

"You're welcome. So, let's get started, shall we? You'll need to learn to read before you can write. The more you recognize the letters, the easier it will be to form them on paper. I'll write out the alphabet for you—you can study those for a while." I watched as he took a sheet of paper and began to write in large lines and curves. His left hand formed the smooth markings, and I felt myself unconsciously leaning in. I only realized that I was once he stopped and looked up.

"Sorry!" I said, blushing deeply as I pulled back and put careful distance between us—it made me restless, the more space was between us the more I longed for the electricity. It was almost like pain. I took the paper he passed me, looking down to it and realizing that I had absolutely no idea where to start in studying this.

**Edward **

"Sorry!" she said, her cheeks burning. I wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, just to feel the warmth, increased by the blood running through both of them, but I stopped that desire in it's tracks. I was supposed to be teaching her. I couldn't be sidetracked by desire, no matter how strong it was. I had completed the list of letters by now, and I passed the paper to her. I knew what her response would be—confusion, because she knew nothing about the letters. Of course, she'd learned to speak them—and that was simple enough for everyone. But how many people actually learned to write those same letters, those same words? How many people could actually recognize a word written on paper that they spoke every day? The answer was few, because more than half of the population were not allowed to read or write, and some of the other half, though they were socially eligible, never bothered themselves. It was normal, I realized, more normal than I'd known. I saw how the world looked in her eyes, even for a brief moment. I saw how privileged those that weren't condemned to slavery seemed, in her eyes. It was strange, because not once had I ever seen that in another maids or servants eyes. It was only hers . . . .

_Focus, focus, _I reminded myself harshly. I concentrated on Bella now. Her thin fingers held the paper up, and her expression was bewildered, and also curious. That was good—curiosity was always good, it kept people wanting to learn. I decided to help her out, because she didn't appear to be really studying it, just looking at the lines and curves. That was bad—she had to be interested in the letters as sounds and vowels and consonants, not silent, still marks on the paper.

"Did you recognize any letters already?"

"Not really . . . only this one." She pointed to the first letter, A. Well . . . it wasn't much, but it was a start. At least I could use something she knew as an example.

"Where did you recognize it from?" I wasn't supposed to be asking that. What I should've asked, what I had been planning to ask was if she already knew the rules of grammar and reading that applied to that letter, but the words seemed to slip out on her own. Her response was unexpected—but weren't you always supposed to expect the unexpected with Bella? Her fingers tightened on the paper, leaving dents where she gripped it. Her knuckles were white, her tendons sticking out. I felt the regret burning on my tongue, and an apology was about to fall from it when she spoke, cutting me off as I was about to open my mouth.

"My grandmother taught it to me—it's the only one I remember, but she tried to teach me the rest. My father—my father used to use it a lot . . . . ," she spoke through clenched teeth, and her tone indicated that she was not about to talk about it any more. I murmured an "oh", and then went on with a different question, hating the awkward silence that followed.

"Well, each letter there represents a different sound. The letters in themselves have different ways to be pronounced based on the syllable and the form, but we'll stick to the basics for now." I gave her a run down of each letter, trying to help her understand. She repeated the sounds after me, and then after that I had her point to each letter that I said. She missed a few at first, but she was doing surprisingly well, for her first lesson. From the way she pronounced her words and asked so many questions, I could tell that she was intelligent beyond her years—though that hadn't really applied to academics until now, from what I guessed. It was sad, that we seemed to be capable of having better conversations—one that didn't end awkwardly—while we were talking about something like letters or words or vowel sounds. On the other hand, we were able to speed through most of the basics and then we were on vowels and consonants—she seemed to have more trouble with this.

"So why is the letter y only a vowel in certain words?" she asked again, not seeming to understand my answers.

"Well, it's hard to explain. You see, y is only a vowel in certain words because in some cases it is strictly a consonant—like it the words yellow or year. But that doesn't mean that it can't be a vowel. It can act as a vowel, but that doesn't make it one."

"So how would you know if it was representing a consonant or a vowel?"

"In words like "day", it is representing the –a and –I sounds, so that would make it a vowel. But in words like "yellow" it is representing a consonant's sound, because if you wanted to use the words yellow as an adjective you would say "a yellow" instead of "an yellow", because you would only use the word "an", ending with a consonant, in front of a word with a vowel at the beginning." My words would have sounded confusing to anyone, but she didn't seem at all confused. Her expression was not puzzled, nor did she seem to be feigning understanding.

"So, you would say "an apple" and "a pear", or something like that, instead of vice versa?" I nodded, pleased at her quickness—this was going to go faster than I thought, a good thing and a bad thing. I was glad that she was smart—maybe she would be smart enough to realize I was not what she wanted for a very good friend? And on the other hand, I wanted to be her very good friend—and then so much more. Too much. It was wrong, not right, out of the question. There was no way I could do so without putting her and my family in danger. _But does it really matter, _ I asked myself, _if she wants it, too? _

I wondered where the sudden question had come from, but I barely acknowledged it in my head. Bella was waiting for a response to some kind of question, and I felt again the frustration of not being able to read her mind. It would be easier to see what I needed to say in my answer. I'd been so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't remember what she asked—something about consonants or vowels?

"Oh, yes," I murmured, hoping that that was the righ answer to what she asked—I really didn't know at the moment. She seemed to be thinking, and then she looked up at the pocket watch that I had laid across the table. She stood up, looking embarrassed.

"It's past my schedule time for leaving—I'm sorry. I'll go now—Alice will be happy to play dress up with me." She looked like she'd made a slip, but before I had time to read more in her eyes, she turned towards the door.

"Don't you have lunch now?"

"Yes, but I planned to grab a plate and then go see Lady Alice—is that okay?" she asked, and I wondered just how polite and shy she was, if she was asking permission of me to see a friend. It was twisted really, because really she was not my personal maid—so she could do whatever she wanted to do during breaks, couldn't she? I frowned at my own curiosity and answered her question nonetheless.

"Of course. Go ahead. And, don't forget to study that." I was only vaguely aware of the sound of the door closing, too lost in my own thoughts, again, to be much aware of anything.

Ah, there was the emptiness, the strange pain of having her presence disappearing . . .

**Bella**

I left, going down to the eating room and grabbing a plate of food. I wasn't too late, so there was some left. Before I could turn to leave, Lydia waved out to me.

"Bella, did you hear the news?" she asked, looking half-excited and half-sad. I sighed inwardly, knowing that she'd have another piece of news that she'd like me to review before I left anywhere. I sat down, hoping that it wouldn't take too long.

"Earl Manning is dead! The nurse went in his room today, to give him a bath, and he was just lying on the bed, not moving at all. She checked him, and he wasn't alive! Isn't it horrible? I can't believe he's dead . . . .so nice . . ." Her voice was lost as I drifted into another one of the memories that seemed to be returning for me.

_Everything was chaos. There was some kind of news going around .Everyone I asked, or walked by, stopped to look at me and tell me how sorry they were. Finally annoyed, I went to go ask my mother about the news. Maybe she'd know. The hallway around her door was strangely quiet, and I wondered why none of the chaos was here. Maybe they didn't want to disturb her. As I approached the door, I heard talking. I stopped to listen._

"_Are you sure?" my father's voice asked, and there was a brief silence before the sound of sobbing started. I wanted to go inside, see what was going on, but I didn't dare, for fear of being punished later. There was a new voice, the voice of the doctor that'd come to check on mother frequently since she'd fallen ill._

"_I'm sorry. I know it's hard." His voice was calm, but still compassionate. Curiosity was my strongest emotion. I didn't know what they were talking about. What was hard?_

"_Who's going to tell the child?" The doctor asked again after my father didn't respond to his last sentence. My father didn't even answer. I was so irritated—I hoped someone told me soon what was going on. I didn't want to be the only one who was ignorant to the news._

"_It's going to be hard for her . . . losing her mother . . ."I felt my muscles shutting down, my brain going numb, as his words entered my head. Losing her mother . . . losing her mother . . . losing her mother . . . losing her mother . . . losing her mother . . . _

_I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was sink to the ground, knowing subconsciously what the doctor meant. That my mother was dead .That she was gone. Forever. And that I was going to be stuck with my father the rest of my life, never seeing her face; never hearing her voice anymore. Never having the comfort of her brushing her hair, or having her fuss after me. She was gone. Gone forever._

_And like always, there was nothing that I could do about it. Nothing. Like always. _

_I was too late, again._

"Bella? Why are you crying?" Lydia's voice cut into the painful memory, and I reached up to my cheek to feel wet warmth there. I wiped my face of the tears, sniffling and making up a quick lie.

"I was just thinking, you know, that it's really sad that Earl died like that. I mean I didn't even meet him before he was gone."

"Yeah . . . it really is. But, even though that's sad, you'll be happy once you hear this! I heard Master Edward talking to the nurse today—before I came down here for lunch, as I walked by the door; I was working upstairs you see—and I heard him say your name and something about "personal maid" in the same sentence! Isn't that great ? I just wonder if he's going to choose you next. O f course, I feel completely sorry for you—I would be so scared if I were to be Master Edward's personal maid! He's just . . . intimidating, you know?"

"Master Edward isn't scary . . . he's really nice." I didn't say anything about him teaching me to read, because I had the feeling that he'd rather word didn't get around the entire house—and with Lydia, who loved to chatter, it might.

"You talked? Did you?!" she demanded, and I saw Josie and Heather shooting me sympathetic looks. Delacia was zoned out, and I saw that she was drawing something on a napkin. Courtney was busy eating, and most likely didn't even know where the conversation was going. I shot Josie and Heather pleading looks, but they shook their heads, taking one look at Lydia's eager, demanding face, and backed down. Damn it to hell.

"Only a little, but he doesn't seem scary."

"Hmm, well maybe thst'd to you . . . but he definitely frightens me." She started to chat again about something else, and I went upstairs to Alice's room, letting her dress me p how she wanted. I was too busy mulling over the idea of me being Master Edward's personal servant—having to risk letting down too many walls, being surrounded in his presence every day—to protest, anyway.

It really didn't appeal to some part of my mind, but the other part was leaping around my head in joy. My mind was split into two different sides, each going at war on a daily basis. It was distracting, but I didn't see any way to avoid it. To choose, one out of two choices in a bad catch-22, would be excruciating. So for right now I was stuck.

I frowned, displeased. How on earth would I not show too much to Master Edward if I was around him so much? Surely I'd slip, minor times and then major, and he'd see me—the real me, not the one in the carefully made shell. And that was dangerous.

Because the more I showed, the more I put myself at risk. And from what I had learned in life, that wasn;t to be considered in any circumstances. Period. So, I was hoping that Lydia would be wrong and that I was not to be personal maid to Master Edward. I really hoped, I might even pray for it tonight.

Alice chattered on of something about dresses and the market—weren't we going in a fortnight? I couldn't remember, but would just ask her later. I relaxed some, enjoying the time to think. It was relaxing, and I indulged in it—not that I didn't indulge in being in Master Edward's presence, which was slightly wrong.

But did that even matter to me much anymore?

The answer: Not really.

_**So, what did you think? Hook line sinker? Good? Good enough to review? Good enough to favorite. Ha ha, off to write chapter 10! Love my reviewers! : ) **_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hi, how are you guys? Good? Great! I love this story. This Chapter is dedicated to ilovecarlisle, who gave me the great idea for this chapter. Hope you like it, thanks for the support, to everyone who's favorited and reviewed and alerted. : ) I tried to put romance in this chapter . . . tell me how I did!**_

**Bella**

The next day was Friday. I was helping Alice today and I was half glad for the escape. It was strange—part of me didn't want to see Master Edward, mostly because my strange obsession—and maybe love—tore down my defensive walls, and a much larger part of me wanted to see him every day, just to spend my time with him. Of course, maybe I was being greedy—how many times had I run into Master Edward in the garden and had conversations with him? And how long had I been in his room yesterday, dragging out the conversation by asking curious questions that conveniently came to mind? The answers that came to mind proved my mind's point, and I frowned. I couldn't deny that I wanted to be with him this very day—that was too obvious to hide.

I went to Alice's room after I took a bath and got dressed, spirits down. I tried to remind myself that there was possibility that I would see him again today—there was always the chance that he'd be in the garden while I was there. That made me smile, and my insides churn with confusion. What had caused the very sudden change of spirits towards Master Edward and my obvious—too much for my liking, did he see it? I hoped not—attraction towards him, as well as the longing to talk to him every day, just to be near him. I didn't know what had brought on the sudden twist, and to tell the truth, if I was, I didn't much care.

Alice was beaming when I walked in. I knew she wanted to dress me up again—and I didn't protest. Alice always got her way with these sort of things. She was holding a long maroon dress for me to try on. I groaned.

"Come on Bella, please! This one is too big for me anyway—so it's perfect for you, isn't it? Besides, I need to see how it fits so you can wear it on our trip to the market! You're going to love it, anyway."

"How would you know?" I muttered, meaning it as rhetorical, but she looked very suddenly as if she'd made a slip.

"Well, because I just thought you'd like maroon . . .," she mumbled, quickly changing the subject with her next enthuse.

"Well, go try it on! And then after that I have another dress for you . . ." I moaned, but quickly left the room before she could mention anything else about me trying on something. I loved the clothes Alice gave me—they just looked out of place on someone like me. They didn't look bad on my, physically, but they did look bad on a maid. After I tried the dress (which fit perfectly) on, I went back to Alice's room and looked in the mirror. The dress was better than I'd first observed—gold silk lace lined the edges of the long sleeves and the collar, tied in bows. There was a thin chiffon petticoat with no bodice—I asked Alice about that, and she said that she didn't want to overdress me because it was usually hot here. I nodded, wondering why I hadn't considered that myself.

After she made sure that the dress fit me, she picked out another dress, a white dress with a bow on one strap. The edges were black, and the skirt had two bows on the bottom edge. It looked to clean for me to wear, and maybe Alice might have caught that in my face, because she sighed and began to explain in a voice that made it sound as if she were speaking to a very small child. Which, in intelligence, I barely rivaled.

"It's not for right now Bella. It's not even for the workday at all. It's a nightdress for you to sleep in—and I made it simple, no ruffles or thick lace or petticoats or long sleeves. The fabric is thick, though—it'll last longer. Do you like it?"

"Sure, I love it." And I did. "But where did you get it?"

"Huh? Oh—uh, I had our seamstress make it for you," she explained, and I again wondered why I hadn't considered that myself.

"I didn't know you had a seamstress," I commented, realizing that I'd never gone into the sewing room before—it wasn't part of the area on my schedule that I had to clean—so I hadn't ever gotten the chance to really see one. I went into the bathroom and tried it on, and when I turned back to the door Josie was standing there with a medium toned, dark brown haired girl that I didn't recognize. She didn't resemble Courtney in more than skin tone or eye color—she was shorter, and more delicate looking. I could only guess that she was Catherine, the faceless girl whose name I'd read on the bathtub; she was wearing a maid uniform like Josie was wearing, and like the one I was not at the moment.

"Bella. Nice to see you. This is Catherine by the way," Catherine shook my hand, smiling a bit. "How are you? Oh—that's a nice dress. Where did you get it?"

"Lady Alice gave it to me." I said honestly, blushing. Surely everyone noticed how Alice was always giving me clothes and dresses—she favored me, I realized, as a friend. I didn't know why, but I didn't protest, because Alice was such a nice, bubbly sort of person. Josie didn't really seem that envious; I imagined that someone as quiet and reserved as she was probably wouldn't get along well with someone enthusiastic and chatty, like Alice.

"Wow—really, you must have done something to get on her good side. You're her favorite—and Master Edward's." I was surprised, and didn't hesitate to show it.

"I don't think so—I didn't know that I was his favorite."

"How could you not? He always looks at you—I work around almost the same schedule, and I see Master Edward staring at you most of the time. I swear, it's like his eyes are connected to you." She laughed a little, then waved and went off with Catherine. I thought for a moment, shook my head, then went back to Alice's room.

"What took so long?" She demanded, then listened to my relay of the conversation. I omitted the part about me being Master Edward's favorite, though I thought that Alice might get as much of a kick out of that as I did. After Alice was sure that the dress fit me perfectly, she let me change back into work clothes (with a frown on her face; no doubt she wanted to ignore my protests and give me another dress). She hung the maroon dress back in the wardrobe for me to wear on the day of our outing to the market, and the white dress was sent with me. I made a quick run to the group bedroom and placed it under the covers to pull out later. After that it was lunch time. Buzz about Earl Manning's death hadn't faded—and neither had the assumption that I would replace him as Master Edward's personal maid. I always shook my head, sure it wouldn't happen. If Master Edward was really so intent on me stepping into Earl's position, then he'd have asked me this morning. I told them that, and they laughed.

"Master Edward hasn't been in all day—he's been running around in town with his father, making the funeral arrangements, so he couldn't have told you this morning. I saw them leave—they'll probably be back near evening," Courtney told me. I restrained a smile. Secretly even to myself, I was hoping that I would replace Earl, just for the opportunity to see Master Edward more during the day. And that, was very, very stupid. But of course, I didn't stop myself from dancing around inside.

Night seemed to approach quickly, too quickly. I stayed up later with the other girls—I had missed out on much of the late night chatter, and I now listened to it. It turned out that the late night chatter was actually more like giggling—everyone teased about who snored loudly or who had trouble waking up (mainly me) or who talked in their sleep (me again). I asked Josie what I said in my sleep, knowing that she wouldn't tease me about it or laugh at me.

"Well, you go to bed early most nights—so we hear a bit of it. You said something about Lady Alice last night, and once our names, and then something about a doctor, and then after that you mostly said things about Master Edward—you say his name a lot. We sleep after that, so we're not sure if you say anything else." I nodded, blushing. If I said his name in my sleep so much, then they knew how obsessed with him I was. Darn the dreams—in a world of subconscious, where everything that I hid from myself or didn't quite know consciously were laid out, everything was exposed. It was lucky that Master Edward would never hear—imagine the awkwardness between us if he knew of my hopeless addiction to him!

Sleep didn't come so easily that night. I tossed and turned, trying to ignore the itching pressure in the low of my navel that I knew meant that I needed to go to the bathroom. Worse, I needed to go to the bathroom _and _I was thirsty. Now I wished I'd had gone to the bathroom earlier, when I'd been changing into the nightdress Alice had given me. I was torn now—Alice made it specific that lights were to be out, everyone in their rooms by 10:00, and I didn't want to break a rule . . . but I also didn't to ruin the dress and the sheets.

I struggled against it, trying to force it back. I found that it increased if I lied a certain way, and so I had to keep off my sides and stomach, making me uncomfortable. I never really slept on my back, and it was awkward for me doing so now. I struggled with the covers that seemed to be tying me down with their sudden weight, and swallowed constantly against the itchiness of my throat. Nothing helped. I was still longing to go to the bathroom, and my throat still screamed for the thirst to be relieved.

I finally gave up, reasoning that it wouldn't take long. I would walk as quickly as possible and try not to linger in the bathroom. I got up as quietly as possible for someone as uncoordinated as I, then tip-toed to the door and opened it softly, wincing at the slight creak it made. I slipped out, tip-toeing down the hall. There were windows lining the right wall in the wide space between each door—there was a system, two windows between the space where the doors disappeared and wall took over—and squares of soft, dim light from the oval moon flowed down to the wooden floor. Dark shadows were left between each square, and I always knew when a square was coming up, because my toes would tickle a brightening in the darkness before stepping right into a patch of light.

It wasn't long before I was into the bathroom. I relieved my bladder, washed my hands in a sink, and then cupped my hands together for water. I drank it quickly, before water could get away from me, and was surprised at the cool, iciness of it. Water from a sink or basin was usually tainted with chemicals, but this tasted much cleaner. I smiled, knowing that I should have expected it. Wasn't everything in the Cullens' mansion top in quality?

When I stepped back into the hallway, a darkness billowed near the middle of the hallway. Only when a figure stepped full into the light did I see who it was—and then did I wish I'd stayed in my room after all. Lady Rosalie stood there—and she looked as aware of me as I did of her. She was wearing a long night dress and a glare. I was embarrassed—and also full of dread. No doubt that I'd get in trouble now. And it was worse because Lady Rosalie had caught me; she hated me for whatever reason and therefore would make things harder for me. Pity that Master Edward was not in her place right now.

"What are you doing outside of your room? That's the problem with you, you never listen or take hints! What don't you get about it? No one is supposed to be out of their room after 10:00, and it's 11:05 right now! Come to think of it, I have something else that angers me. Master Edward follows you around like you're something worthy of it—and you're not, not at all. You're an ugly, skinny little slave, and you always will be. No one wants you—isn't it obvious? Your own family would rather have you here than with them! No wonder, they couldn't stand to look at your _face_!" She spat, and I stumbled back, away from her cruel eyes and her leering smile.

I was fighting back tears. It wasn't like _It's not like you haven't heard this a million times before, _I reminded myself, but still a part of me knew it was true. When other mistresses or masters had said this, I hadn't been affected—because they were just as ugly, and almost as poor as I was. But coming from someone beautiful, someone who had an education, who was rich, I realized how true I was. How little I was worth. Did anyone care? No. Alice cared, I told myself, but as far as I could see, she might be the only one. It broke my heart to think of Master Edward now—because I knew that he knew that it was just as true. I was worth nothing, and always would be. He saw that. Of course he did.

"Oh, is the little baby trying not to cry? Ha ha, you should. You're filthy, and maybe the tears might wash some of the dirt away."She began to laugh, and I felt myself being crushed. I wanted to run—to break down by myself, or at least in front of supportive eyes, not in front of someone who hated me, who'd continue to kick me in cruelty while I cried.

A sharp growling sound pierced the air, grouped with the electricity that flowed between myself and a certain person. Rosalie's head snapped up, and I was glad for the distraction. I sat on the ground, rolled into a ball, and scooted into the shadows, hoping they would conceal me. I heard talking—and I recognized the voice all too well.

"What are you doing now Rosalie? Torturing someone else? Just because you're miserable doesn't mean you have to force your pain on others. We get it Rosalie, you're angry. Do you want to say it some more? Because if you do, then you'll be saying it to me—not to a completely innocent girl who has no way to defend herself. Really Rosalie, are you really so much better than the monsters who took your happiness away?" She flinched, and I heard something that sounded like a satisfied "humph".

"The rules only specify that lights must be out at ten o clock. Then again, if you actually bothered to use that pretty, conceited little head of yours for more than thinking of yourself and judging others, you'd know that." She glared, but I saw something—very briefly—in her eyes. A flicker of pain. I was so happy—it was wrong to feel glad at someone else's pain, but oh I was now. She tasted just a teaspoon of my pain, and I hoped it tasted bitter.

"Oh and, by the way, if you ever care to mess with Bella again, then you'll be answering to me . . . and so will Emmett. I'm sure that it won't be hard to deflect him. After all, I have people to back me up on this—and Jasper will most likely side with Alice for this one. Think about that." I wondered why he was making physical threats for protecting me, and I was also displeased that he'd seen me after all. I had wanted to be hidden—and I had wanted it more when I'd heard Master Edward's voice. How much had he heard? How much did he agree with? I watched Rosalie disappear down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and I stood up, attempting to make an escape, when Master Edward called to me. I turned back, hoping that it would be brief—I wanted nothing more than to hide right now.

"Bella. I want to apologize for Rosalie—her behavior was inexcusable. And . . . if you don't mind me asking, I'd like to wonder why you were up?" I winced. I was in trouble after all—and how embarrassing that I was admitting to Master Edward, after all. Hadn't I wished this on myself? I had wished that Master Edward was there instead of Rosalie, except I got half of what I wanted.

"You're not in trouble—I was just curious." He flashed a smile, and I told him, timidly.

"Well, I couldn't sleep. I had to go to the bathroom—and I was thirsty."

"I couldn't sleep either—I was just going to see Alice when I heard Rosalie—and saw her tormenting you." His jaw clenched, and I could tell that he was angry about that—why, I didn't know. It wasn't like I wasn't used to it by now. I'd been through it for about 14 years of my life.

"It's fine." I could tell he wanted to protest, but instead he said something else.

"Do you want to take a walk with me?" I was surprised at the question but didn't protest, smiling at him and telling him that I'd love to. I let him lead me down the hallway. Every few seconds his eyes would return to my face, and I was sure that the blush staining my cheeks gave away, painfully conspicuously, my self consciousness. I now wished that the dress was longer—wasn't it inappropriate to wear sleepwear above the knee around a male master? But there was nothing that I could do about that. At least I was reasonably clean.

The downstairs of the house was strangely quiet and dark, shadows hanging over the elegant furniture. It made the place look haunted, or abandoned, or both. When we stepped outside, moonlight shone down, making his eyes sparkle in strange ways. I was suddenly aware that I had no idea where we were going to walk.

"Where are we walking, exactly?"

"Would you like to walk in the garden? It's not that cold." He didn't seem patient for an answer, instead he led me into the garden, where we began to amble around. The leaves whistled and howled in the wind, and grass and spare petals and leaves fluttered near the ground. Insects chirped, and nocturnal animals were making their calls—they were sounds very much like the ones I'd been listening to nights ago to lull me asleep, and that comforted me. The dark outline of the trees shook, and stars began to glitter in the sky, getting comfortable for their long night shift. The scent of the flowers wafted around us, and small insects that were late getting to bed began to scurry to their homes. It was wonderful, but dulled compared to the man standing next to me.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, breaking the stillness with a voice so soft it was part of the quietness itself.

"Yes. Don't the stars remind you of little soldiers taking night shifts?" He seemed to think of that, then smiled.

"I never really thought of the stars before this. It's harder to think of them now, when you're standing next to me." He turned to me and grinned — almost lovingly, I noted — and then lifted his hand, so reluctantly, to hold mine. I was shocked at the sudden contact, and indulged in the electricity that sped between us. The sensation removed the pain that never seemed to register until it was gone.

"Thank you. I know you're just saying that, though. I'm a servant—nothing special."

"You don't see yourself clearly," he commented, and I blushed—and smiled. If he could say it, he thought it, right? That was what other people in my life did—they said exactly what they thought. What chance was there that he wasn't like that as well? If he didn't think what he said, then he wouldn't be on this walk with me right now.

"Master Edward—"

"Won't you call me Edward? Master Edward . . . makes me feel like your warden, or your captor. I could be called both, couldn't I?" he mused, then went on as if he hadn't meant for me to answer." But I don't want to be either of those."

"Well . . . Edward," saying his first name with no other formal address tacked on to it sent a thrill through me, and I couldn't help it. I loved it. I wondered what he thought about it? I wished that I could read minds. Then I could settle once and for all what he thought of me—could finally see if it was worth obsessing over him.

"I'm really flattered. But still . . . I'm nothing compared to Rosalie, am I?"

"Compared to Rosalie, you are an angel—and you are much above her. Even if you weren't beautiful on the outside—and you are, ask anyone—then you'd still pass her with your beauty on the inside. It makes you glow . . . or maybe it's the moonlight, glinting off your skin. That dress is pretty, by the way . . ."

"Thank you. That's really . . . wonderful of you, to be so nice to me."

"Shouldn't everyone? Be nice to other people, I mean."

". . . not according to their standards . . .," I answered, hoping he'd change the subject. No, the world was not nice—wouldn't I know all too well?

**Edward**

She said the last words in a strange tone, as if she knew that by firsthand experience. I could imagine she did. Would it be prying to ask if the encounter with Rosalie earlier made her suffer more than she was letting on?

"So, you and Alice are going on to the market in a fortnight?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes—she insists on it. She even made me try on a dress to wear for that. This—" she indicated the dress she wore now "is just a gift, a nightdress."

"Alice has finally relented to dresses without fancy additions, I see. I like it."

"Thank you. Can I ask you a question?" She looked hesitant, and I nodded, squeezing her hand very slightly, not letting my strength win, The warmth was invigorating—I wondered how it might feel to lean down and kiss her?

"Why is your family . . . so nice. I mean, why is most of your family?" Her thoughts seemed to be on Rosalie as well. I paused, then tried to explain, carefully wording my answer.

"Well . . . we try, to help others. We think that it's wrong to let slavery determine how we treat others. We don't want to be like other people, who use their wealth to buy many slaves and then treat them like dogs. Why did you ask?"

"So you're an abolitionist," she said, avoiding my question. I nodded, trying not to feel frustration at not being able to read her mind.

"Yes—the whole family is, even if you can't tell." She laughed a little, and her eyes, like mine, drifted to the sky, The moon was high, stars out, signaling midnight. She turned back to me, eyes apologetic.

"I'm sorry—it's late. I didn't realize . . .," she murmured, seeming to wander in thought.

"No, it's okay. We should head back now anyway. The forest is coming up, and I suppose you wouldn't want to wander around there in the dark?"

"No, I wouldn't." We laughed some more, and I marveled at how melodic her voice sounded, almost like a gentle lullaby. I liked the thought of it, her voice singing a lullaby. I wondered if she was a good singer? We began to head back to the house, much to my regret. I wanted to stay and talk—to have conversations with her where she didn't hide herself behind her walls, where she wasn't so mechanically polite. I wondered if we'd ever get a chance to do this again? Would this all only be a dim memory tomorrow, a slight picture that seemed so much like just an imagining?

On our way back, I got an idea. I took a rose and placed it in her hair, hoping that she'd keep it on so that I'd see it tomorrow—then I'd have prove that this had been real. She seemed to enjoy the rose as much as I did, and that reminded me that I still needed to pick that bouquet I promised myself I'd give her. I'd need to have Esme's permission, of course, but that would be easy to get.

I allowed her to separate her hand from mine when we were back at the house, instantly longing for the return of the warmth. She disappeared upstairs, and then I was alone. I was restless, and my thoughts didn't stray from her all night. I did something I felt intensely guilty for later—I went into the group room an hour later, when I was sure she was asleep, and knelt by her bed, watching her. It was such an invasion—and so dangerous if someone saw me or if she woke up. But I took the risk, watching her sleep—and hearing her talk. Saying my name. I smiled, satisfied that I was in her dreams. I listened until the morning sun approached, appreciating the chance to glimpse into her mind.

When morning came, I kissed her hair (very, very softly and briefly) and then went away before she got up, anticipating the day ahead—I would see her again.

And that was enough to ask for.

_**So what did you think? Did I add too much romance? Were things rushed? Please review and tell me what you think! Thank you once again to ilovecarlisle, who this chapter is dedicated to, for giving me the wonderful idea. : ) I look forward to your feedback!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**This chapter is dedicated to iluevc2. Thanks also to xxkissesandcuddlesxx, pookietn, snusa, MyBabyblues, and all my other faithful reviewers—they know who I'm talking to! Enjoy Chap 11—virtual hugs! **_

**Bella**

The next morning I woke up with a very confused haze in my mind. There was a dim memory of walking in the garden with Master Edward—was that really true? I couldn't remember. All I remembered for sure was getting caught by Lady Rosalie, and not much after that. There was no proof—half of me was satisfied, the night was only a dim haze that had potential as a dream.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and headed for the bathroom. I would take a bath, as usual, before starting worked. I'd probably end up going to Lady Alice's room—today was Saturday, and she'd love to use my either way schedule to use me as a model for the day. I woke up with the rest of the girls—that was surprising, considering how late I went to sleep last night. Maybe my mind had run out of space for resting. Courtney and Lydia were giving me strange looks. Heather definitely noticed something—the stares were hard to deny—but she was shy and probably too much so to say anything. Delacia walked right past me without staring; she looked groggy. Josie was the only one who said anything to me about why I was attracting so many eyes.

"Bella—what's that in your hair?" I instinctively went to the mirror to see what she was talking about. In the mirror, I saw a red splotch of a flower stuck through my mahogany locks. I pulled it out, turned it over in my hands, then had a burst of memory, flash-backing into last night.

I remembered parts and pieces—enough to make me smile, and groan at the same time. I had said too much, but I was glad I had. My walls had been down last night—and from the pieces I remembered, it seemed like it had pleasant results. Maybe, somewhere in the future, I might consider letting down my walls and being Bella again. That would be after I got over my past and learned to move forward—there was no way I could stop being defensive before I did.

"Where'd you get the rose from?" Courtney asked, and I made up a quick lie—I needed to protect Edward's reputation. Thinking his first name in my mind sent a thrill through me. I wondered if it would be impolite to ignore Courtney's question and use the thrill to go and hug Edward.

"I couldn't sleep last night. I kept waking up, and so earlier I went for a walk in the garden. I got a rose—I hope Mistress Esme didn't count them." The girls laughed. My statement wasn't a lie—I was just omitting parts that could damage Edward's reputation if they managed to spread. Thinking his name again made me think of him. What was he doing right now? What about the trouble with Lady Rosalie last night? Was he catching trouble for that? I felt guilty; if I'd never gone out of my room he would've had no reason to get in trouble saving me from Lady Rosalie—then again, if I'd done that, then we would've never gone for that walk.

"I don't think she does. Lucky you, right?" Josie laughed a little before going on with what she was doing. I did too, grateful that the discussion was over. Who knew what else they would ask me, and how much I'd have to further omit? I put the rose, still in my hand, on a table and then went and took my bath, cleaning my hair. I left it wet, wondering if maybe the water could be enough for the rose to survive. I wasn't sure; I had never really paid much attention to how plants grew, but I put the rose in my wet hair, got dressed and went to Alice's room. She opened the door, looking slightly troubled.

"Bella! You're here?"she asked, somewhat surprised. I raised an eyebrow; usually nothing surprised Alice.

"Of course. Today is Saturday, so I thought maybe you might want to use me for dress up."

"Huh? Oh, actually I don't have anything for you to try on today . . . maybe tomorrow. Edward might have something for you to do, though!" I was confused at how bright her expression seemed when she mentioned Edward, but didn't comment on it—Alice was Alice.

"Well . . . okay. I'll go and see if he has anything to do." She didn't protest or say anything else, and I was a little hurt. I went off sulkily towards Edward's room, barely knocking before opening the door. He was sitting at his desk and his head snapped up when I came in. He seemed oddly satisfied with something, and I wondered if I should ask—would it be the same as last night, would the same walls be down?

". . . What are you so happy about . . . ?"

"You're wearing the rose," he explained simply, still smiling. I smiled too, glad that he didn't seem to feel any regret about mentioning something from last night.

"Yes. Um—Alice didn't have any work for me, so I came here . . ."

"Oh. Well, I actually had something to ask you. Won't you sit down?" I complied, sitting in the same chair from our reading lessons. He looked torn for a second, and then he began.

"Well . . . I was wondering—Earl Manning is dead, and so I wanted to know if you'd be able to become my personal maid." I was surprised for a second. He was asking me—but wasn't that what everyone else had expected? He misread my expression and started backpedaling.

"It's fine if you don't want to—I'll just ask someone else," he said, sounding almost angry. I didn't understand why—he changed moods so fast sometimes that it left me stumbling behind. He didn't seem to want to look at me, and that stung. I frowned, but decided to just say yes and get it over with—the gossip about it would fade in only a few days anyway.

"Well, I—," I began, but he cut me off.

"That's fine," he said curtly, still looking away. I winced, lashed by the edge in his voice. That pain was quickly replaced by anger and spite—fine, let him be angry! But if I was being honest, I was angry at myself for caring so much—and for making him mad at me in the first place, and for having such a face that was easy to read. Fury—and pain—took over me and I jumped up and walked out the room without saying another word.

My temper cooled down after a while—much to my relief and horror.

Relief—I didn't go around snapping on people for no reason because of my anger at Edward and myself.

Horror—My temper was soon replaced by embarrassment, and shame.

Because of that horror, I blushed every time I thought of Edward or someone mentioned him. I avoided him for the next few days, afraid he might still be mad—or maybe that he might be over that and that I might ruin it. The only times I saw him for more than five seconds were reading lessons—I needed those, and so I didn't really have a choice. I kept the conversation completely reading related, hardly talking and just listening. There would be a confused look on his face—was he reading mine, or just confused because I wasn't as curious as I usually was?

I wanted to talk to him, but I was too much of a coward to. I didn't expect him to talk to me, and so I continued to avoid him. The girls noticed the difference, and asked my questions mercilessly. I answered them all frostily, insisting that nothing was wrong—that it was perfectly normal to avoid Edward, because we had no relationship beyond master to slave.

Why did I wish that that was different?

**Edward**

What did I do wrong? Had it been my words? My tone of voice—maybe she'd been confused? Humans didn't respond well to confusion, did they? I was frustrated at myself—there was absolutely no excuse for upsetting Bella. For a half second, I was frustrated with Bella—she wouldn't talk to me. I only had a chance to talk to her during reading lessons, and even then she hardly spoke. It was really getting to me.

I paced every hour, as I was doing now, contemplating ideas in my head—should I try to talk to her? I didn't warm up well to this idea, because it was talking to her that caused her to avoid me. I remembered what I'd asked her—to replace Earl Manning as my personal maid. I didn't like the sound of "replacing", because Bella was not a person who could replace someone—rather, she did the same thing they did, better. And neither did I like "personal maid". It made her sound like property.

Or should I wait for her to talk to me? This didn't appeal, either. Who knew when she'd talk to me again, if she even wanted to? It could be weeks—months. Maybe never. I speculated whether or not she was one to hold a grudge—it really didn't seem like it. I couldn't imagine Bella holding a grudge against anyone, no matter how many times I tried to picture it.

I couldn't find a solution, so I wallowed in guilt, figuring that if I'd never done whatever I'd done to upset her, never asked her to become my personal maid, then maybe she might be talking to me now, maybe she wouldn't be upset.

Every time I saw her in the hall or outside she looked the other way, increasing the speed of her step. I frowned, irritated at my lack of progress. I determined that Bella couldn't hold a grudge—she was just stubborn.

In the end, I went to Alice—I should've done that sooner, but I'd been so busy speculating over the whole matter of Bella avoiding me to really think of much else—Rosalie had given me h-e-double hockey sticks for it.

"Awe, Edward and Bella have had their first falling out!" she squealed, laughing and dodging as I darted a hand out to give her a lick on the arm.

"I'm serious Alice," I said, my tone matching my words in perfect sync. She laughed some more, but calmed enough to answer my question of how to fix things.

"Alright, if you really want to talk to Bella again, ask her to accompany you somewhere—you guys shouldn't always see each other and talk inside or near the house. Eventually you get tired of never going anywhere else, talking to someone you like—like, really like." She laughed again, and I shook a fist at her.

"But, lucky for you and Bella, I know a great restaurant. You guys could go there sometime—talk, laugh, and eat—well, she'd eat, that is. But you get the picture. It gives you chance to talk. And plus, I have something to dress her up for!" she suggested optimistically, clapping her hands. I smiled, pleased at her suggestion—it didn't sound bad at all. Knowing Alice, this would work—and Bella would look beautiful (not that she wasn't impossibly so already) in whatever Alice dressed her in. I agreed quickly—agreeing to the suggestion was much easier than actually carrying it out.

"Thank-you, Alice. But I guess I owe you again. And no, you cannot do anything that attempts to push me and Bella together." She scrunched up her face at that.

"But why? It's not like you two won't be—" she quickly cut off, and when I tried to dig in her thoughts to see what she meant, she was reciting the declaration of independence. I growled.

"What did you see, Alice? About Bella and I?" I asked somberly, looking her full in the face. She laughed nervously, and then shifted her weight slightly.

"I'm not telling you," she declared firmly, completely serious. I grumbled some more but decided that I'd argue with her later—I had more important things to do, such as go talk to Bella.

"No matter; I'll come and persist some more after I talk to Bella," I said, walking out the room and looking back and forth, trying to catch Bella's scent. It wafted down the hall, towards the stairs to the main floor. Following the floral scent, I came to the garden—wasn't she always there nowadays?

She was standing in front of a patch of mini carnations, doing what looked like watering them. I wondered if I should wait, then decided not to. How did I know that I wouldn't back out when she turned around?

I walked outside, being as quiet as possible, and stood behind her, gathering the courage to put a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, eyes wide, and they seemed to get wider when they saw me. A blush tinted her cheeks, and I smiled to myself. I loved seeing her blush—it made her cheeks the loveliest shade of rich pink crimson. She looked away, and waited for me to speak. Damn. I hadn't planned on this—I 'd expected and hoped for her to start the conversation now, so I wouldn't have to—but wasn't that a hope in vain; she had been avoiding me for the last few days.

"Bella. I just wanted to talk," I began, putting her hand on her shoulder and looking at her face, now covered by hair, begging her to look up at me. It was as if she heard my mind; she stared up at me and I saw into those wide brown eyes. For a moment, I forgot what I was about to say.

"What do you want to talk about?" she murmured bashfully, eyes wandering but focusing on my face, as if inadvertently, every few moments.

"Well, I just wanted to apologize."

"For what?" she was taken aback, it was obvious. I smiled slightly at the blush on her face, but tried not to smile too much—I wasn't sure how she'd respond to that.

"For upsetting you last week, I'm sorry for that. I suppose I was imposing myself—isn't that why you were avoiding me?"

"No—no, um, I was embarrassed. But your apology is accepted, anyway," she went on quickly, eyes darting to my face and away. I gulped a bit, this was where I had to ask my question. Alice would snap my head off if I didn't—and plus I really wanted to, so there seemed no other choice.

"Would you like to go to a restaurant with me on Saturday? It would be fun—we could get out of the house." She looked mortified, and I kicked myself. Of course I shouldn't have asked so out-rightly—of course she was shy.

"I don't—I can't—no!" she shook her head, sidestepping me and hurrying away. I watched her leave, staring holes into her back, until I felt the same emptiness-now coupled with guilt—tearing at me.

**Bella**

Of course I said no. I had to—I was too mortified, too self-conscious to say yes. How did I know that I wouldn't end up ruining something? With my luck, I'd spill something on Edward. manage to ruin any type of good mood, and somehow babble on and on until his ear fell off. I couldn't help it—I was usually too flustered around him to really keep up good conversation, unless I looked at something else while I was talking. But he had tried to talk to me, to settle things—I had to give him that; it was I, as before, who ruined things now.

So the next day I decided not to avoid him—just not to bring up any mention of his invitation. The expression on his face when I greeted him looked pained and melancholy. I couldn't look at him for more than five seconds at a time—I didn't have to long, because I went to talk to Alice on my lunch break. She had somehow heard of the invitation and my answer, and she was fiery, flying at me when I stepped in.

"Bella! Have you lost you ever-loving mind? Why did you say no? _How _could you say no! It would've been perfect, perfect I tell you! What happened? Why didn't you say yes?"

"No to what?" I hedged, wincing as she blew up at me.

"Please don't play dumb! You know very well what I'm talking about! Edward offered to take you to a restaurant, and you said no! Why?"

"Well, maybe I just didn't want to go," I lied; it was a failure, the shake was clear in my voice. She looked at me skeptically, and I sighed.

"We both know you did—and still do, Bella. I'm serious. Tell me why you said no."

"Well, I was just so embarrassed—I didn't know what I'd say to him there. It would be so awkward for me—and then, I'm so scared I'll mess something up or make a fool of myself and embarrass him—isn't it better for everyone if I just say no?" I have to admit, I thought so.

"No! Edward was really hoping you'd say yes, and so was I! Bella, you won't make a fool of yourself—I promise you. And Edward wouldn't care if you did, he'd think it was cute. Please, Bella! Please, if not for your enjoyment, go for Edward's? Or if not for that, at least go for my sake so I can dress you up?"

"Please to what Alice?"

"Please go back and tell Edward you'll go! It won't be bad—I promise! We could dress you up, and you guys could go, and it would be fun! Please? For me?" she begged, and her expression slipped into one that said she meant business. Her lip jutted out, her eyes widened in the cutest way, and it was hard to refuse. I groaned.

"Yay!"

"That wasn't a yes!"

"But it's going to be, I can tell. Now go, hurry up! You'll thank me for this later, I promise!" she shrieked, pushing me out the door and down the hall. Other people stopped to stare (or glare) at the sight of tiny little Alice pushing me down the hallway. I already knew the direction.

She shoved me into the room, ran, and screamed "you'll thank me for this someday". I grumbled to my self, but stepped inside some more. Of course he was sitting on his bed, head cocked to look at me. I blushed again, looking down.

"I wanted to talk to you," I began, not looking up.

"About what?" his tone was completely casual, but I heard an undertone. I glanced up, and saw that there was a knowing look on his face. I wondered if, somehow, he was expecting me to say yes now. I dismissed the possibility—it was impossible for someone to know something like that before it happened, unless they were extremely arrogant—and he wasn't.

"Well, about your . . . .invitation for Saturday. I changed my mind. I'd love to go. It sounds like . . . fun."

"Thank you," there was very suddenly a burst of cold air around me, and I jolted up in surprise. He was right in front of me, lips in a wide uneven smile, bright golden eyes sparkling—strange against his pale skin, but still pleasant. I stared some more in surprise, then snapped out of it—as much as possible when the very embodiment of attractiveness appeared right in front of you.

"Um . . . you're welcome. Bye!" I ducked out the room quickly, speed walking down the hall back to Alice's room, where she ambushed me. To be honest I was happy myself, so it was easier to sit and smile when she began planning my dress assemble for Saturday.

_**Ha ha, surprise surprise! Was it good? I hope so! Really like writing this story—as I've said before! I'm writing another story out on paper—preparing the first few chapters before I post it. Also, Enchanted will be worked on over the weekend, so I may or may not post a few chapters on that. Review, speak you honest mind! Don't worry, I'm a big girl, I can handle criticism. : D!**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**So I'm writing again. Awesome. Hey, how is everyone! Love my reviewers, thanks to iluvec2. , ingenuity15 , pookietn, snusa, and all rest— alsoalso, thanks to the people who've favorite-d this story, thanks again. I was actually surprised at the number of favorites/story alerts; I only expected to have like 10. Here's chapter 12! Enjoy! : D**_

**Edward**

I definitely owed Alice. She had convinced Bella to say yes— I was a little disgruntled about that, it felt like Bella was going for Alice's sake. I frowned at myself, telling myself to be grateful— at least Bella had relented to going at all.

I waited impatiently for Saturday to arrive. Time, as usual, defied my want — and need — and dragged by in a lethargic crawl. I would walk around the house, talk to people, talk to Bella, go and ask Alice something about the future, go hunting, and then see that not even half an hour had passed. It was infuriating. I wanted to punch the clock, just to see if doing so might scare it's hands into moving faster.

Bella, of course, wasn't as impatient as I. I truly believed that Bella was good, from my observations. She was selfless, patient, caring, shy, honest, loving— when she wanted to be— stubborn, and good, through and through. The only bad thing was the fact that she seemed so . . . broken. It wasn't obvious— none of her friends seemed to notice it, I don't even think Alice really noticed something was off, but I did. I saw the way she looked sometimes, the way she looked surprised when I was nice to her or when I said thank-you or when I apologized. She looked like she had never experienced that kind of deference before. And the way she flinched sometimes— like she expected someone to hit her. She was scarred, I was sure. I half expected to see scars and bite marks and bruises along her arm the first time they weren't covered by sleeves or by her hair.

Alice told me that I couldn't talk to or see Bella on Thursday and Friday— she said things would feel too friendly and limp if we saw each other the day or morning before we went somewhere out of the house. I questioned where we were going; surely friendly could be good at a reasonable restaurant? I should expected Alice to go all out. Her restaurant was fancy— and I mean the kind of casual sort of fancy that's not overly decorated or exaggerated but makes you feel like it's better because it isn't. I could see in her mind that she'd already planned everything— she had gotten the family seamstress to make a dress for Bella to wear that night, she had made plans for the restaurant to hold a table for us and to have it ready when we arrived, she was planning to have me in formal clothes, and the rest of the details were just popping inside of her mind.

Of course, I stepped in. I told Alice, very firmly, that she could not go all out and make this too romantic. I had a feeling Bella wouldn't want that— and I didn't want to upset her. Alice complied halfway, thought unwillingly. She tamed the dress, told the managers of the restaurant to get a table near a fireplace instead of outside, and toned down my outfit. I was relieved, sure that Bella would like the revised version more.

Time ticked by ever so slowly. Alice refused to let me see the new dress, and sent me out of the house when she was examining it. I went hunting, imagining that the warmth of the blood down my throat was the heat of Bella's skin. I got bored, and couldn't wait until Alice came out in my hearing range to give me "permission" to reenter the house. I ambled around the forest, climbing some trees and sitting in the branches for a bit. From a distance, I saw the slight blow of someone's hair in the wind, and recognized the color. I could see Bella from a high distance, saw her sitting down in the garden near Esmeralda's pond.

I saw everything in more detail than a human word— saw faintly her expression of peace, the way her arms were wrapped around her knees. I stared a moment before looking away, knowing Alice would give me hell on a silver platter when I got back. It wasn't long before I was called back. Alice was arguing with Rosalie when I walked in, and I groaned. Rosalie turned to me and began snapping.

"So you're taking your little human pet out for dinner?" She spat, laughing bitterly.

"We're going only to have fun," I said with a straight face. Rosalie's fury began to boil up, and just as soon as I heard the words in her mind they were flying out her mouth.

"Only to have fun? How dare you say that to I, as if that would alter anything! Edward, don't you realize that if you keep it going like this the girl will be attached to you like a leech? And sooner or later Edward, if you keep it going like this— this stupid, pointless addiction to the girl who isn't even pretty, then you'll end up telling her— it'll just come out as soon as she realizes that you're hiding something. Then what Edward? We'd have to change her or kill her! And I'm leaning toward option two right now. Wouldn't it be so much easier if she was dead?"

"NO!" I roared, feeling the house shake under my yell. I heard the thoughts of others, and modulated my voice.

_What was that? Felt like an earthquake . . . _

_Was that a scream I heard? Huh, it's over now._

_Wonder if I should go check it out . . . _

"Rosalie, are you really so cruel?"

"No! But Edward, don't you realize how against this little addiction I am? She's human, Edward! Human!"

"I know," I responded, frustrated.

"She should live like a human and not be sucked into this life, like I was! She should live a normal, happy life and then wither of natural causes like all humans should!"

"She will."

"How? How, Edward, if you're so obsessed with her?"

"Who said I planned on getting personally involved, or that I planned to change her?" Alice cleared her throat, and both of us turned to look at her. Her eyes darted around, then she excused herself to her wardrobe.

"What do you call that, Edward?" Rosalie asked, pointing toward Alice's back.

"I call it Alice hiding a vision from me."

"How do you know that that vision isn't of what we're both set against becoming reality? How? How do we know that it won't happen— that all our hopes are in vain? We should kill her Edward! It's the only way.

"NO!" I yelled in fury, and things began to fall off of tables.

"Hey!" Alice called from her wardrobe. "You made my dress fall off its rack!"

"Sorry," I said mockingly, rolling my eyes.

"Fine Edward. But don't say I didn't try to help you," Rosalie sniffed, flipping her hair and walking out as if she owned the world. I wanted to rip her hair out. Alice laughed from her wardrobe, and I smiled, just a bit. That good mood was ruined when I looked at the clock. It was only 3:30 in the afternoon on Friday.

Like I said. Infuriating.

**Bella**

It was extremely nerve-wracking. Time was passing every so slowly, taking one baby step at a time towards Saturday. Alice didn't allow me to see Edward at all before then. Not even for reading lessons. I paced up and down, waiting for time to stop playing games and move on already. Of course, it defied me.

Maybe if I took the glass from the face of every clock in the house, adjusted their hour and minute hands, and then put the glass back, I could make Saturday come faster. I had half a mind to. I was really looking forward to it, now that I had warmed up to the idea. A night out of the house with Edward? Great, too much to pass up. I was glad that Alice had made me say yes— though I'd never say that to her in my right mind,

Alice said that where we were going was a surprise. She went around and down the halls every hour, coming back with paper and fabric and a happy expression on her face. She disappeared into her room and didn't allow me inside so I was left to go out in the garden.

I sat near the pond, watching the fish and the insects ripple the still water. It was so relaxing that I almost fell asleep there. This was a place that was beautiful, something you saw in a book with paintings by the finest artist.

It was ended though, because Alice came out and found me and told me to get in the house. I didn't see why; it wasn't like I had anything to do. She told me that it was time for dinner and to go inside. I complied, eating dinner with the rest of the girls. I didn't tell them about my outing tomorrow— I figured that I could hold off the questions for as long as possible.

I went to bed early that night, wanting to get as much sleep as possible. I'd hate to fall asleep in the middle of the day on our outing. I was embarrassed enough about being with Edward for the whole day outside of the house, I didn't need anything added to that.

I woke up early, and hurried to take a bath. The other girls seemed to notice my rush, and Courtney and Lydia commented on it.

"Are you in a hurry this particular morning?"

"Yes —I'm going to see Lady Alice after breakfast."

"You sure do spend much of your time with her— and Master Edward. It almost seems like you're friends." Courtney shrugged. I frowned a bit. It had been so long since I'd spoken to someone who was born and raised with the idea that masters and slaves were not supposed to be friends that I'd almost forgotten how casual and natural it was to be against the idea. Now I thought that it was wrong— strange, because that hadn't set into my mind until I'd met Edward.

"Hmm," I murmured, leaving for breakfast. I ate quickly, wiping my mouth off and combing my hair through with my fingers as I hurried down the hall. Of course, I should've expected Alice to be ready — she and her family seemed to wake up very early every day. If I didn't know better, I'd say they never went to sleep at night.

"Bella! Sit, sit. We have all day— you guys won't be leaving until early evening, so that gives us time— you can try on the dress and check the fit. Then, we'll probably get you out the dress and into a shift while I do your hair and wash your face. After that, you'll eat lunch while I go and pick out some shoes and maybe a hat for you. Then you can put the dress on and you'll be ready." To a person who didn't know Alice, they'd say that this would take only an hour or two at the most. But with Alice, what sounded like less was always more. So the torture began.

She made me try on the dress (I couldn't leave the room, so she went into the wardrobe while I changed my clothing) and then I took it off and put on a shift. She experimented with my hair, trying many different hair styles. She ended up placing it in a neat bun with even strands hanging from both sides of my face. She rubbed my face gently with a soft towel, and when I opened my eyes my skin looked paler— maybe the dirt that had been left there had tanned me a bit.

Alice talked while she was doing my hair, and she gave me possibly the most embarrassing talk I'd ever had.

"Bella, I think it's time you learned all the things about boys and dating," she said somberly. I almost choked. She went on, not seeming to notice my response.

"Boys are very frustrating and confusing creatures— they have strange senses of humor, the most unknown way of being "polite" and almost no sense of romance. But, they're easy to change, if you train them."

" . . . Train . . . them?" I asked in confusion, scrunching my nose up a bit.

"Of course. How do you think Jasper's so calm? He was born and raised on a ranch here in the south, and naturally he was trained to take care of cattle, fight, ride horses, defend the territory, participate in a fight, things like that. When I met him, he was much rowdier— very rowdy. And the only thing that kept me from walking away from him (because I didn't much care for loud, rowdy men) was the look in his eyes and that chin and that smile.

"So I trained him. It was hard, harder than normal, because he'd been raised a certain way, and he wasn't about to just throw that out the window, not even for me. I did manage to get him to come home before dark and to come camping with me and the family and to . . . eat healthier foods, and taught him some manners like he was in the north. He can still be rowdy, he just better remember all those things I taught him."

"I'm sorry, that's a very nice story, but can I ask how this could relate to me?" Alice laughed her trilling laugh.

"It relates to you and Edward, of course. Edward will be easy— and hard. Edward is a very all or nothing person, so usually when he makes a decision he goes all the way. He is polite though, and charming, and whatever. Don't let it fool you, he gets on my nerves." That was a very sister like thing to say, and I smiled.

"But Alice, me and Edward aren't like you and Jasper. We're not socially equals, so there's no way we could ever be like you two. And plus . . . I won't ever compare to him."

"Nonsense. Anyone can be with the one they want, even if they aren't considered equals. It just takes a very obstinate person to keep persisting until they can call that one that they want theirs. And Edward adores you."

"Why can't he tell me that?"

"Like I said, Edward is too polite to do that. He thinks it might upset you or give the wrong impression."

"But wait, if he adores me then if he told me wouldn't that be the right impression?"

"I agree. But he doesn't, and he's determined to go on his way. Anyway, more about dating and being a couple. Don't try to be different or like how a man would want you to be. Be yourself. If they don't like it, then they don't know what they're missing." I wanted to tell her how wrong she was about that, especially in my case, but I didn't because she'd ask why I thought that . . . and I wasn't quite ready to go there.

"Let's see how much you know about dating. Have you ever kissed a man before?" I blushed shades of red that I didn't even know existed. I wanted a crater to open up in the floor and swallow me. Of course, I couldn't do that, so I was forced to answer.

"No . . . no."

"Do you want to kiss Edward?" Yes. But don't tell her that, because she'll tell him.

"I'm not answering that."

"Is that a yes? I think it is!" she squealed, dancing around her room. I rolled my eyes, but tried to be grateful that she was distracted. I quickly brought up a question about color and skin tone and she was completely side tracked, giving me a whole course on it.

\I ate lunch while she disappeared into the wardrobe, coming back out with a pair of shoes before I could finish. They were heeled and navy blue, to match the dress. I groaned. I was too clumsy to walk in something like those. Alice shot me a death glare before putting the shoes on my feet.

My feet were small, so they fit into Alice's shoes without too many difficulties. In fact, there were hardly any pinches. She looked me over, beamed, then turned me towards the mirror.

The girl in the mirror looked beautiful. It took me a second to realize that this was me. My face, arms and neck were not so sickly pale— instead they were the color of light cream and roses from the blue's contrast. My hair's reddish sort of tint was highlighted, and the strands that hung around my face lightly tickled my neck and collar bone. My eyes gleamed with their own sort of light, and they got lost in themselves for a while before the plump reddish lips opened.

"Alice— this is— wow. I actually feel like I might be able to stand next to Edward and not feel so embarrassed— though I'll never compare." I sighed wistfully. How come he could look like a statue of beauty when I could not? It wasn't fair.

"No one will dare to say that you don't compare," Alice declared, black spikes bouncing as she did.

"Well— if you say so. So, how much longer?" the whole process had taken hours— I was still a bit surprised at that— and now I could see the sun showing the faintest hints of drowsiness from the window.

"I'll escort you to the carriage," Alice said formally, looking like a lady in waiting herself in her dress. She took my arm and led me downstairs; a relief because I knew I wouldn't be able to walk straight without her help in these shoes. Downstairs, there weren't any of the girls near the staircase— thank goodness. Instead, maybe worse, there was Lady Rosalie and Sir Jasper and a strong built dark haired boy that I didn't recognize.

"Now, isn't that just funny?" Lady Rosalie laughed sharply, eyes watching my every movement. _Do not let her ruin your good mind, do not let her ruin your good mind, _I chanted to myself, keeping my eyes focused on the door. The big dark haired one laughed a little bit, and Sir Jasper smiled as I walked past him.

When I stepped outside, I saw the same carriage from before outside waiting for me. The two bays were whinnying and shaking their manes out and stomping the grounds aimlessly. I was surprised; a carriage was usually used for distances over three miles, but I said nothing. Alice didn't lead me directly to the carriage, as I expected her to. Instead she turned at the bottom of the staircase and moved toward the left, pulling me along.

I was facing him before I knew he was standing there. I jumped a foot in the air, and he grinned. He moved towards me, putting something in my hair and adjusting it for a moment before stepping back, looking me in the face.

I stared into his eyes ,surprised at the sudden intensity there. His eyes never left my face, or mine-- I don't think he noticed what I was wearing. He smiled again, but it seemed absent-minded, wondered.

"Ahem," Alice cleared her throat. Edward glared at her for a moment before turning back to me.

"Please forgive my rudeness. Won't you take my hand?" I did, enjoying the feel of his icy-cold skin pushing electricity into mine and through my veins. Alice grinned, and then whispered something in Edwards ear. He nodded, then turned back to me.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. But Alice put me in heeled shoes. Please don't be angry if I trip." He looked surprised, and then curious, but just nodded. He helped me into the carriage before going around to the other side and getting in. I smiled shyly, holding his gaze and then letting mine drop to the velvet red of the seats. I traced my hands over them, feeling that all too familiar soft smoothness.

Only when we began to move did I get fully impacted by what was going on. I was taken over by embarrassment. I would make a fool out of myself with my clumsiness and embarrass him for sure. If not that, I would conduct myself too casually, or would move my hands too freely, and other people would look down on him. I knew that they would know that I was a slave— masters seemed to have that kind of sixth sense. I determined not to embarrass him, wherever we went. Speaking of that, I wondered myself.

"Edward?" He turned to look at me, lips pulling into the same smile.

"Yes? Is something wrong?" His expression faded into worry, and I hurried on.

"No. I was just wondering where we were going. Alice told me it was a surprise, but I couldn't help but be curious, and I was wondering if you'd tell me. Where we were going, that is."

"Sure. We're going out to dinner." He flashed me another smile, and that stopped me from groaning— he was in on it with Alice too. I did wish that we would arrive sooner— it would squelch my curiosity and I wouldn't have to spend any more time wondering what the right type of deference would be —I would fall right into step mechanically, as I'd always seemed to do in my life.

I shook the thought away, determined to focus on the night ahead.

**Edward**

She was so beautiful that it was unfair. Unfair because it was hard to keep a safe distance, to not sit as close to her as possible on the carriage seat, to not lean in towards her face and see every last detail. And unfair because she was more than I deserved.

I kept my answer to her question vague. I was as much for the surprise factor as Alice was.

The rest of the ride was spent in a mostly companionable silence. She seemed to be thinking deeply about something, and I wondered if I should interrupt her. Probably not. I didn't want her to lose her train of thought. I could only hope she was thinking of me.

"Edward?" I looked down, to see her looking up at me.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question? How is it that we're going out to dinner when the sun is getting ready to set?"

" . . . You've surely heard of a late evening dinner," I said, leaning down and blowing my breath into my face. She nodded, her thoughts seeming somewhere else. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but hesitated, not sure if I should.

"Yes . . . I have." There was an odd edge in her voice, and she quickly changed the subject. The rest of the ride went on like this, and very soon I found that we were pulling up in front of the restaurant. As usual I went around to her side and helped her out. She looked towards the restaurant and gasped.

"Wow. That looks . . . so pretty," she mumbled, looking at the front of the restaurant. Sparkling lights were wrapped around two posts in front, and bushes and trees were covered in cherry blossoms. The restaurant was lit up from the inside, and the sound of talking radiated from it. The sky was getting dark, and under the shadows, it was harder to believe that I was here with Bella— it was harder to believe that we were outside of the house. I half expected to hear Alice's thoughts come marching up to me, or maybe Rosalie to come storming form the bushes, but there was nothing. I smiled.

I led Bella inside, and she gasped at the same time I did. The inside was just as simply calm as the outside— tables were placed by the many inside of the dining area, a candle and flowers on each one; obviously more romantic people were expected here. I kept up the friendly atmosphere with Bella as best I could, not wanting to go too far.

I noticed that she was acting strange before we ordered. She seemed oddly quiet, sat back perfectly straight in her chair and didn't talk unless I talked to her first. I felt my forehead creasing in worry; what was wrong? She'd been quiet on the way here, and now this. Though I didn't want to leave, I would, if something was getting to her.

"Bella? What's wrong."

"Nothing, Edward." She murmured, glancing around uncomfortably. I followed her stare and realized that other people around us were watching us as if we were a show, and I tuned in on their thoughts.

_I wonder if their a couple . . . _

_Look so great together . . ._

_Really romantic . . . _

_Other young couples should be like that; beautiful, good wife, gentlemanly, perceptive husband . . . _

_Wish Frank and I had that kind of connection . . . _

I was confused, and watched Bella and I from their point of view. I saw the way we were leaned toward each other— well, the way I was leaned toward her. I had barely noticed. And we were in sync; when one of us looked at the other, they looked at us, when one of us moved the other one did, too. I hadn't noticed these subtle things until now, and it sent a warm sensation up my back. Other people thought we were a couple— was that bad or good? I was unequally torn, most of me leaning toward good.

"Edward? Why are they staring?" Bella whimpered, and I focused on her. I leaned forward, rubbing her arm cautiously, comfortingly.

"They think we're a couple," I told her simply. She looked up at me, curiosity plain in her eyes.

"How did you know?" I didn't have to answer, because a waiter came to our table and asked for our requests. Bella chose a herb roasted half chicken, and I declined. Bella looked back at me, a strange expression on her face torn with amusement and curiosity.

"Don't you ever get hungry?" she asked. I felt my lips pull down a bit, then I answered her question with a half honest answer.

"I eat."

"So, you didn't answer my question?" she persisted, raising an eyebrow. I frowned, making up a quick excuse.

"I overheard a conversation— the table next to us. It's quite obvious that they think so."

"Oh. Alright. So, did you pick this place, or . . . ?"

"Alice suggested it. It's pretty good, isn't it?"

"It's wonderful."

"I suppose so." _But not as much as you are._

"Do you see that woman over there? She's really pretty. I wish I could look like her, so that maybe I wouldn't be so plain, like my father," she said, wincing slightly at her last words.

"You don't see yourself very clearly." I said disapprovingly, watching her laugh, almost bitterly.

"You say that a lot," she shot back, frowning.

"No, only twice. And because I'm waiting for you to see it."

"I probably won't— either you're blind or you don't mean it as a compliment."

"I do— and I'm not blind, quite far from it." Very far. I could tell her right now exactly how many dust particles there were.

"Well, maybe I missed something. Hold on. Wait, maybe you're saying it because my facial features are so imbalanced?"

"Is it really so hard for you to accept that you're better than you give yourself credit for?"

" . . . Yes, okay? . . .," she answered, looking away from me.

"Why?" I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know. Not reading her mind was becoming subconscious— I didn't think of it much anymore at all— but the frustration was still there.

"Because I'm plain and almost ugly. Rosalie knows it, I know it, my father knew it," wince "and I'm sure you know that too."

"Well I don't. And you're wrong. Rosalie is wrong, your father was wrong, and I'd be wrong, if I actually believed it."

"You're too nice to me."

"As nice as everyone should be to you."

"How do you do that?" she demanded very suddenly, glaring at me. I was surprised and didn't hesitate to show it.

"Do what?"

"Know all the right things to say— all the things that will make me lose the argument."

"I have four siblings. It's getting easier." She smiled at my joke, and I had to smile back, and I could feel some of the strained atmosphere lifting. The evening was wonderful. She ate all of her food (not before asking me more than five times if I was sure that I didn't want anything) and we just spent the rest of the time talking. I was pleased— her walls were down again, and I got a chance to take a glimpse at her inside.

**Bella**

I let my walls down. I trusted him, without giving myself permission to. I trusted him and his family – the ones I'd met, at least . . . and then there was one I'd met that I didn't trust, but Edward wasn't her.

"Do you like the ocean?" I asked him. He seemed surprised by my uncommon, random query, but answered anyway.

"Sure. Do you?"

"I love it. It's so beautiful. The way the waves roll against the shore and make a rhythm like a lullaby, the way you can see into the horizon and it's reflection on the water, the way the water is so clear in places that you can see fish and sea insects and plants and sand and starfish and the way the water looks during a sunset— and at midnight."

"You've seen all these things?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've seen them all once with my mother. I was little, only 5 years old. At the time, it was the most beautiful thing I imagined and I promised myself I'd go back someday to see and hear all those things again."

"So why didn't you?" his question was innocent, unknowing, but pain clutched at my heart. I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn't. Not now. Not yet. Even though I trusted him, I was worried that it would all be too much and that I might break down— and go insane from the pressure.

"Slavery is hard," I told him simply, avoiding his question. I think he noticed, but he didn't comment, only talked about something else.

"Have you ever been to a ball before?"

"No. If I have, then I don't recall it. I would never want to go anyway. I'm almost sure that no one would ask me to dance-- which is just as well, because I'd end up injuring at least ten people with my clumsiness before the night was half way over."

"You're exaggerating."

"You've never seen me dance— or run, but you'd know what I meant if you did."

"Hmm," he murmured quietly. I took the silence to people watch. A party of women, accompanied by men, were watching Edward. Some men were looking at me, a young child was staring at me with the most innocent, cute expression, a waiter was coming down the aisle, a man dressed in fine clothing was reading a book.

"Do you like art?"

"It's nice. I've never seen any paintings besides the one at your house, and their mostly abstract. I've never seen any in books, either, because I usually never picked up one. But people have described paintings to me, and I think they sound interesting."

"You've never seen a painting before?" Surprise. Embarrassment, on my part.

"No. Not until I came into your house."

He kept asking me questions, and we both realized that I really didn't have knowledge of anything outside of cooking and cleaning up and sewing— but did slaves really need any of that? Why bother, I figured, if I was always going to be a slave and never allowed to speak freely, as others did? All I needed to know was housekeeping and manners, and that was what would help me survive.

I had gotten along okay until now, right? In my slave life, at least.

When the waiter came to our table, Edward checked his pocket watch and told me that it was nearing 9:00 pm. I hadn't realized how late we'd been out, and I was apologetic for keeping him so long. His family would definitely be worried, and or mad.

"Don't worry about it being late," he told me as we walked out. "I really enjoyed it."

"Me too. It was fun. Better than I thought it was going to be."

"What did you expect?" he asked. We were in the carriage by now, sitting on the same red velvet that matched the color of my cheeks now. I think I saw him smile, but I wasn't sure.

"Well, I expected us both to be victim to my clumsiness. I expected to trip and ruin things around me and or hurt someone else, then embarrass you in the process and have people thinking "what the heck is wrong with them". I was very nervous the whole time."

"You shouldn't have been. I would've caught you, and then we would've looked romantic."

"Is that what you're aiming for?"

"Hmm, the sky is darker than I expected. Perhaps a storm is on its way," he murmured, looking out the window as if he hadn't heard my question. Curiosity won over my frustration, and I looked out the window. He was right, The sky was almost pitch black, the only light coming from dim gray clouds. You could see trees and plants shivering in the heavy wind that blew relentlessly. It made me cold to watch. I shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked me. I hadn't even realized he'd turned his head from the window, and I jumped. He reached forward, hesitated, then frowned. I stared at him with what I was sure was a blank expression on my face. He reached forward again and touched his hand toward my arm, rubbing it up and down and trying to warm me. It worked, despite his cold touch. The electricity shooting through me did it's job pretty well.

I felt myself falling asleep, and the last thing I remembered was hearing the faintest drops of rain on the carriage roof and feeling something cold press into my hair.

_**So what did everyone think? Good, bad? Not enough fluff/romance? Too much? Too boring? Quick question, leave answer in review section or take the poll on my profile: do you think Edward and Bella should have their first kiss soon? Review! I need your opinion! : ).**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Love updating this story! For all my readers, I want you to imagine each of the scenes in your head. It makes it more enjoyable. Enjoy and please review!**_

**Edward**

The storm came on slowly, and for that I was grateful. Rain drizzled outside, gentle and sweet as the calm before the storm usually was, but the thunder crackled and boomed as if it were impatient for the rain to speed up. Bella, asleep beside me, soon woke up, startled by the noise.

"What's that," she asked, whimpering as another boom sounded outside.

"It's thunder," I told her, alarmed at the frantic edge to her voice. She whimpered again, and all else was silent for a bit after that. I rubbed her hair, not quite sure what else to do to comfort her.

"Edward?" she whispered so softly after another boom of thunder hit that _I_ almost didn't hear her.

"What is it? Are you okay?" I demanded anxiously, looking her over with worried eyes.

"No. I'm scared." I relaxed, but tensed at the same time. How to comfort her?

"Shh. It's okay. It won't hurt you," I cooed, letting her get closer to me and wrap her hands around one of my arms. I wanted to shiver at the new warmth her hands gave me. Inconspicuously, I leaned down and inhaled her sweet scent. Beautiful . . .

"I'm scared," she repeated as she scooted closer to me. She was almost in my lap now, and the electicity made me strangely tense in a way I'd never felt before. It was frustration, physically, but not at her. I was mostly frustrated because I didn't know what the tension was or how to relieve it—it poked and pressed at me annoyingly.

"It's okay. Go back to sleep. We're almost home."

"I'm not sleepy," she murmured, but a few minutes later I heard her soft, hollow breathing and knew she was in slumber. I continued to rub her hair, hoping that maybe it might relax her into sleeping long enough to get home, at the very least.

The storm began to rage and roar. Lighting hit, thunder cracked, rain poured, and wind howled agaisnt the sides of the carriage, billowing the curtains. I tied them down, and the wind roared in fury when it had no effect on the red fabric.

It wasn't long before lighting hit a direct target. It was a tree-- and, a tree directly in our path that fell in front of us, preventing us from moving. I wondered why the horses didn't jump over it, but remembered that them doing so would knock and jostle the carriage so much that things would fall down. I was half glad they didn't, I didn't want Bella to wake up when the storm was getting so horrible.

"I'll got get rid of the tree," I told the footman, wanting to get Bella home as soon as possible— even if it meant leaving her side for a few minutes. I tried to slip my arm out of her grasp, but she only tightened it—she was aware, even in her sleep. I managed to uncurl her fingers a bit without waking her, and she folded her hands under her cheek, still asleep. I sighed in relief.

The tree was thick and heavy-- for a human, at least. I pretended to work hard to remove it, taking long than I wanted to. Luckily, while I'd only gotten it to move a few inches, the footman got distracted, so I threw the tree the rest of the way out of the horses path and got back into the carriage.

"Edward?" I hadn't realized or heard Bella waking up, so her voice surprised me. I turned to her, expecting her to tell me again that she was scared, but her statement instead surprised and worried me.

"I had the strangest dream," she continued on. "I dreamed that you were moving a tree—it was really big and heavy. But you just tossed it out of the way like it was nothing, and I remember that you didn't even wince or grunt while you did it. Isn't that strange?"

"Perhaps it's because of the storm," I suggested, relieved that she though it was a dream-- she was too observant for my and regretfully her own good, and I was worried that some day she might see right to the truth. _That'll never happen, _I reminded myself. _She wouldn't even suspect it._

"Maybe," she said, wincing as she listened to it outside. We continued on our way, and it wasn't long before we were home. People were waiting for us— and that caused a blush to fire on Bella's cheeks.

"Where have you been?" Rosalie demanded, looking Bella over with a wrinkle of her nose.

"Out," I responded acidly, glaring at her, smug that she wouldn't do anything rash with Esme and Carlisle in the room.

"Ahem," Carlisle announced, smiling at me slightly.

_Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?_

"Carlisle, this is Bella," I announced, leading Bella towards Carlisle. She looked him over for a second, then shock, and horror, crossed her face.

Oh god.

What happened now?

**Bella**

It's him. I'm not crazy. I know it's him. The doctor. The doctor that tried to help my mother while she was sick. The blonde, compassionate faced doctor who had told me that my mother was dead. The calm, compassionate faced doctor who had done all he could to help her. The calm, compassionate faced doctor that I now had to look in the face and be expected not to break down in front of.

Was this some kind of cruel joke life was playing on me? A little prank, a little prank that involved my pain, over and over and over again? A little laugh that involved my tears, a dance that involved my fear, my sobs of regret? Yes. It was a joke. All a joke.

I shook his hand mechanically, trying not to show the pain on my face as I did. Maybe he saw it. Maybe he didn't. I don't know. But I know that Edward saw it, because he wanted to talk to me. I tried to use the excuse of being tired, but he insisted that it would only take a few minutes. I agreed, shaking. He led me to his room, shutting the door. Window-- possible escape. Maybe try to circle around him, get him to move farther from the door and make a run for it if I had to.

"Bella, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, looking away.

"Yes it is."

"No. It isn't. It's just the storm."

"There's something else." He knew, and I hated it— hated it so much because I knew that eventually, if I was ever going to get him to stop worrying, ever going to learn to trust, to get over my past, I was going to have to tell someone, and right now he was a possible candidate— hated it.

"What do you care?" I snapped, features twisting in anger and rage-- at my father, and myself.

"Why are you so angry?" he asked, ignoring question, coming closer to me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted, wrenching away from him. He looked pained very suddenly, and I was glad-- so sickly, was my past making me as extremely wicked as my father? But I was glad, because someone else deserved my pain-- deserved to writhe in it, experience it as I snapped. And unfortunately, he was the unlucky victim.

"What? Bella, what;s _wrong?" _

"Nothing! Get away from me!" I stepped back from him, feeling the tears stinging up at my eyes.

"I thought we were . . . friends . . ." he said, pain etching his features, ripping my heart apart. But that only made me angrier, and the words were out of my mouth before I had time to regret them.

"No! Leave me alone! I don't want to be friends with you— or anyone! I don't need friends! All it does is hurt me more when they turn on me and start torturing me, too!" I screamed, tears flowing freely now. I didn't wait for his response. I left, running to the bathroom and crying for a long, long time before I collapsed.

Oh god. There was something so seriously wrong with me. There was no doubting it now.

I was wicked, through and through, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it now, after I had said those words to Edward.

Nothing. Too late, again.

Always too late.

I hate myself.

_**Please don't kill me! I know this chap was sad and no doubt made you angry, but this is not the end! Edward and Bella shall reunite! And if they don't, you can all kill me! But seriously, I was in the mood for romance and drama and tragedy in this chapter— I wanted Edward to see just how hurt Bella was, see how much she was pained inside, so he could help her faster! And plus, that'll speed up the romance and mystery considerably. So truth be told, you should be thanking me!**_

_**Ha ha . . . just . . . kidding! *hides behind chair as virtual knifes fly out the computer***_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Hi everyone! Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad I didn't get any virtual knifes. This is Chap 14, going to add a little distance between B and E. This is going to start off in EPOV. Enjoy, all that jazz!**_

**Edward**

I was crushed. Literally, I was depressed, deflated, inactive, agonized, and any other words that describe pain that ends in depression. Bella had snapped on me, and it was not a heat up, cool down statement. It was a statement that burned my dead heart, shriveling it, it was a statement that made me sure that I couldn't do anything right, and a statement that made me sure that Bella was hiding a bad past.

Rosalie was smug, and happy (finally) with Bella for separated herself from me; she loved my pain. I sometimes wonder just how horrible Rosalie took how she was taken into this life. Jasper was as confused as I was—when we had been upstairs, he said, Bella's emotions had screamed pain and self-loath, hatred and anger. Alice was furious with Bella but also curious to see her past, wanting to make everything better for Bella, Esme was sad that Bella had "left" me, Carlisle was a bit angry at Bella for hurting me was more compassionate for Bella, and Emmett was only half smiling, practically a miracle in our book.

"Edward got dumped!" He would laugh, then stop when he saw the murderous glares on some of the faces of our family. His words stung, leaving another mark on the skin that being rejected by Bella had already mangled.

Bella—Bella, who was not speaking to me, or Alice, or anyone, or even looking at me or Alice. She was depressed, I knew from Jasper's recounting and the sobs I heard frequently. I wanted nothing more than to ask her what was wrong, to comfort her, but hadn't I ruined everything that resembled friendship between myself and Bella by doing that? Just think, if I'd never been too persistent, never pushed her about telling me about what was wrong, then maybe she wouldn't be so pained—maybe I wouldn't have hurt her so much.

Bella never came out of her room, or ate, or talked anymore. Sometimes I go inside at night and watch her sleeping, longing for the peaceful angel to open her eyes and see me too, for the desire not to be one sided, for everything to be better. But that would never happen.

Never, because I'd ruined that as soon as I had said those words, asked her what was wrong constantly when she obviously didn't want to talk about it—in my own lovesick ways I had thrown out any perceptiveness for her feelings, and so it was wholly my fault that I was in so much pain.

Alice tried to comfort me frequently. All of our conversations now went something like this:

"Alice, is Bella going to come out of her room soon?" I would ask.

"No, she isn't—I don't see her moving for a while."

"Oh god, what did I do?"

"Edward, you didn't do anything. I told you, Bella has a bad past. She's very shy, very sensitive, very wary and guarded, and sometimes with people like that things that would be perfectly fine and normal for one person makes them snap," she'd say.

"What do you mean 'people like that'?"

"Well, I didn't quite intend it to mean that Bella was alien or at fault or below anyone, I just meant that with people who have a bad past, that happens."

"It happens, Alice, I get it! But what do I do now? Bella made it quite clear that she didn't want to see me, or be friends with me—and I don't think she was just saying that in a fit of rage. Bella is not a person to go back on her decisions, Alice. She's going to stick to it—she's not just going to cool down and say that it was just an accident, that she regrets the words. She won't. I know it."

"You don't. Things will get better—I have the feeling, and my feelings are never wrong."

"Well then, this might be a first," I say, getting up and walking out the room.

No matter how many times anyone said it wasn't my fault, I knew it was. When I looked at Bella sleeping, watched her toss and turn and cry out and scream in her sleep, I knew that she was having a bad dream—a bad dream that I'd triggered. When I heard her crying, I always knew, even if she wasn't thinking of me, that I was the cause, the blame.

I always knew I was a monster. And not just the kind that killed people.

It was so much more than that.

**Bella**

It's been exactly 5 days, 6 hours, 15 minutes, and 12 seconds since I said the words. It's been exactly 4 days, 6 hours, 34 minutes, and 12 seconds since I last left the room. I don't eat anymore, so I don't need bathroom breaks. It's been 2 days, 10 hours, 30 minutes, and 15 seconds since I last used the bathroom. I've been counting. Sometimes I lose track because I cry and then when I finish I don't know how long it's been (since there was no clock in here) and so I just start where I was when I lost track. I've had to do this several times, more than several, and I'm sure that I might be missing hours, maybe days from the time. I don't care.

5 days, 6 hours, 18 minutes, 5 seconds since I said the words.

4 days, 6 hours, 37 minutes, 3 seconds since I last left the room.

2 days, 10 hours, 33 minutes, 6 seconds since I last used the bathroom.

Time ticks by in what seems like a blur, but I know how long it's been because of my counting. Sometimes I wonder what Edward is doing and think of going to see him, then remember that I couldn't anymore because of what I'd said 5 days ago, and that would send me into a crying jag. After that was over, I would think back to the crying jag, remember what I said to Edward, then remember the memories that caused me to say it, and that would send me into another crying jag.

I'm crying again. Shoot. I have to start again . . . 18 minutes, 5 seconds. Right. I think of my father now. I hate him so badly that no words can describe it at all. It's so pure, it's so strong. I want to go back in time and hurt him, the way he hurt me. Call him names, step on him, kill him. Though, if I could do things differently now, go back in time to any moment, I don't think it would be to get revenge on my father. I think it would be to change the words I said to Edward that day. To change them, to instead tell him of my past. Maybe it was selfish, but I would tell him about my past not because I wanted him to know but because I wanted to hear comforting words from his mouth, anyone's mouth as I cried. It would be temporary, only a pity vote. But didn't I deserve one? Didn't I think that I deserved it?

Honestly, no.

There were only yes or no answers to questions pertaining to my twisted life now. No maybes. There is no more time for maybes. When life comes rushing at you, when reality and confusion pounces on your back, what do you do? I lash out in pain and then drown in it later. Great, isn't it? Maybe to someone else right now, I might seem whiny and too stubborn to dwell on the past to move on to the future. But if they saw my past, they might see why—or maybe they might think it all the more reason to get on with the future.

"Bella? Bella!" It's Josie, again. She's been checking on me a lot the past five days, and it's starting to annoy me. She blames Edward for my condition—and that isn't helping me at all, it's only making it worse. Once, she talked about going and talking to Edward for me, but I quickly took time for speaking to say no.

"Bella, you have to do something! You can't just sit in this room all day and night and expect things to get better, Bella! Please, get up—say something, eat something! It's been five days and you haven't eaten anything, haven't touched a morsel of the food I bring for you. Please Bella. He's not worth it. He's just a man, not worth—"

"He is worth it," I whisper half to myself, but she hears it. I hear a sigh, then a door closing. Another person giving up on me—just like my mother, who left me; my father, who beat me into me his own depression and rage; anyone who had ever liked me when they saw the scars that sometimes showed on my back or my feet or my legs in good light, or when they saw how little I talked. And Edward—had he given up on me, too? I knew it wasn't fair to wonder, because I had pushed him away, but still, I hadn't been giving up on him.

No, I hadn't been giving up on him, I had been lashing out, in my own sick frenzy I felt that someone else deserved my pain—and he was that someone. It was all so twisted, so stupid now. And I knew that the only way I could ever look Edward in the face again, ever give him a true smile and receive one in return, was to do something bigger, something much less casual, much deeper. Something that made me completely vulnerable; like a cat laying on it's back or a sitting duck.

To ever get on right grounds with Edward, I had to tell him my past—tell him everything. I had to be honest, and I had to trust that he might take that honesty that I gave him and use it to help me heal.

But the question was, how did I ever get the courage, the trust, to ever do that?

How did I ever gather the strength, the openness to ever make myself completely vulnerable again?

I didn't know. And that was what I hated. Not knowing, knowing that if I wanted to do it then I would have to do it purely on blind instinct, to dive in without wasting time on losing the will to tell him when I finally found the will to.

Running blind was almost the most horrible thing I'd ever experienced, second only to my past, my painful, broken past.

And yet, somehow I enjoyed it, somewhere deep in my almost non-existent faithful soul.

_**Er . . . alright, I know that was short and rushed into the emotion and it portrayed the story plot quickening much too fast, but like I said this might not be more than 20 chapters, maybe 22 or at the most, 23. And I'm tired of dragging things out! I want to write some real romance and drama and angst, not little filler chapters that I pass off as work! And so, I am going to start portraying more emotion. The chapters might get longer, they might get shorter. I just hope the writing in them gets BETTER.**_

_**Sorry for the long authors note, I know everyone hates those things. I do. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter . . . it feels like I haven't worked on this story forever, even though I only took a short weekend break. I feel guilty for it. : ( No one likes to be left in suspense for too long. Review, and such.**_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Yay! My story reached over 100 reviews! _****_J Thanks so much to everyone! _****_J Here's chap 15! _**

**Bella**

I finally moved—for real. It was raining outside. I heard the sheeting rain hitting the window, and I saw the rapid drops of moisture against the intricately carved glass. I stood up—I wasn't quite sure what had willed me to, but I did. I shook for a few minutes on my weakened, unsteady legs. I steadied myself on the edge of the bed, stood for a few minutes, and then walked over to the window.

It was dark outside, the sky a dark midnight blue. A faint sliver of a moon was visible, peeking out from its sleepy shelter of clouds and looking through a window down at the rain. I saw, from this window, the tops of trees and the outlines of dark hedges and barely, the petals of flowers. Shadows moved against the outlines, sometimes looking as if there were a figure there, but they would soon disappear into the dark as well. I stared for a few moments, then turned away.

So I had stood up and walked—very good. I wondered if, maybe, I was getting over my depression. Part of me hoped not—I deserved to wallow in it—and a much larger part of me hoped so, just for the chance to see Edward's face again. I smiled, very distortedly, and turned back to stare over the room. Everyone was asleep—it was later than I'd thought—and their soft snores filled the room, a part of the shadowy, dancing darkness. I stood for a bit, looking around. I hadn't noticed how much this room had changed for me in the past days—a once bright white wall was now empty and gray, a once interesting window had looked boring and dusty, and my once welcoming bed had become only another place for me to sulk and brood on.

I let my eyes fall on the door. Now that I had a little bit of time to be out of the hazy, black air of depression, what should I do? Maybe I should leave the room. After all, if this was limited; if I'd go back to being depressed in only a bit, then why not try to get out this room while I could? The only thing holding me back was fear of being caught—by Rosalie—or worse, Edward. I had a suspicious feeling that the Cullens stayed up most of the night, and I was sure tonight was no exception. But eventually, my longing to get outside of the door drew me.

I opened the door, very softly, and slipped out, trying to be as quiet as possible on the sometimes creaky floorboards. I closed the door behind me and began to head down the hall, trying to keep to the shadows, though I had a feeling that anyone walking down the hallway might still see me. Oh well. Maybe my thinned body could slip onto the wall and look like a part of it, of the shadows, if need be. I'd always blended in, hadn't I? Certainly, I thought with a pang of resentment.

I shook it off as best I could, reminding myself that I was not supposed to be depressed. I was supposed to be doing all the things I'd neglected while I'd been a lump on my bed.

My first stop was the bathroom. Though I didn't have to go, I really did need to wash up and wash my hair, scrub under my nails, get some water, wash my face. It felt good to be clean again, after the itch of filthiness that I hadn't noticed until it was gone. My hair was wet and dropping streams of water flowed down the back and front of my dress.

I went and changed into a clean uniform dress and then folded the old one and placed it in a laundry basket. That was that, though my hair was still soaking wet. I shook it out a bit, though it barely removed any moisture. Oh well. Who cared how I looked anymore, anyway?

My next stop was the kitchen; my stomach was eternally grateful. The only downside to an open access of food was trying to devour some being quiet and subtle when I was starving. I settled on five pieces of varying fruit and then walked out the kitchen into the parlor, or living room, eager mouth nibbling on an apple, the rest of the fruit cradled in my free arm like a little baby. I debated on what to do next. Surely there was more to do . . . if I had time where I could feel neutral, I might as well use all of it.

I looked out one of the windows lining the wall. Outside, I saw the pouring rain, barely disguising a row of garden arrangements. I stared out into it, looking over the shadows and petals for a moment before I began to skip to the front door.

Tonight was my night to go crazy; or as crazy as a slave could go. I was going to eat fruit and walk in the garden while it was raining.

Might as well.

So I stepped out the door, down the porch steps and into the rain, letting it soak me completely. I closed my eyes, feeling moisture soften their lids. I opened my eyes again and stared at the childish moon under its blanket, feeling oddly warm from the rays it cast.

I turned my head back to the garden stretching out in front of me and tried to think of where to go first. Maybe the roses. I liked them. I hadn't seen them in a while. I missed them; the soft, small and pinkish buds of the dark flowers, promising rosiness for their bloom. I smiled, almost sadly, as I let my feet drag me to the bushes.

Leaves, wet and heavy, brushed my face, leaving quickly fading trails of water. The roses I saw on the bush were already in bloom, their dark folds damp with little dews of water that looked almost like blood in the darkness. I sniffed them, inhaling the water-improved scent of them and stroking the leaves and flower, plucking a few of the soft ones to keep. Not sure where to keep them I sprinkled them around the top of my head like a halo. Ha, ha. There was no way I was an angel.

As I sat down on the ground, still dry because of the thick shelter of the leaves and flowers, I wished that I had a book to read—or maybe a diary, or a ribbon, or food. Eating in the garden, near a rosebush, in the middle of a rain. I could picture it in my head, and I liked the picture. I closed my eyes, letting my imagination slip into one of its rare daydreams while it could. Might as well satisfy that, too.

In my daydream, there was a girl. A blonde, pretty girl with tan skin and sea green eyes and pink lips and dimpled cheeks. Her name was Orchid, because I always liked orchids. Her complexion was clear, and she was wearing a snow white dress with ruffles and frills, something most people wouldn't wear to sit in the grass, but this was a daydream and it was romantic. She was sitting on a branch of a tree, curved like a seat and cushioned with teasing, dappling red roses that climbed the bark like a vine. She was eating an apple and had a book in her hand—maybe a diary?

And then she was singing, and singing, and singing. She was a beautiful singer with a good soprano, and her long, delicate hands waved in motion as she did, the nails a very clear clean that showed the tan skin underneath the nails.

Roses fell from the tree as she closed the song in a gentle, smooth wave like that of a lullaby, and their petals sprinkled on the ground around her as she smiled. Very nice, I thought.

When I reopened my eyes and moved to peek out from my hedge shelter crawling on all fours to slip my head out a little opening, I gasped, then quickly covered my mouth. It was too late, of course; somehow he'd heard me. From fifteen feet away, he'd heard a small gasp. I was sure something was up. But I was too lost in finding him, _here_, at the exact same time as I that I couldn't focus on that much.

Because Edward was standing fifteen feet away from the bush I hid in. And he was staring at me. I couldn't hide myself, too lost in his stunned, warm topaz eyes, and I knew my goose was cooked when he started walking over to me. Too late to hide now. Dammit!

I quickly stood up, stumbling against the hedge and having to right myself before I went headfirst in a tangle of leaves and twigs. No need to embarrass myself more than I already was. But more than embarrassed, I was sheepish, and guilty, and amazed, and angry (at myself) and relieved. All at once. It was confusing.

"Bella?" his voice called, still shocked. I wondered if I should nod, or say yes, or something. Instead I remained silent, glad that he was unsure the figure in the moonlight was to be unsure that it was me. That dissolved in a few moments.

"Bella!" his voice called, more urgent this time. He knew it was me now. I blushed darkly, and turned, trying not to get too lost in his eyes. Looking there, I remembered what I'd concluded a few hours earlier. That to ever be truly relaxed with Edward, I had to tell him my past. It seemed crazier now. We were just friends, after all. Wasn't it too soon to be revealing such big secrets.

No, a subconscious voice in me answered.

No, because I felt that Edward was beyond a friend. Maybe that was why I had been so hurt after I had lashed out at him, maybe even the reason I'd done it. Maybe it was the reason I'd gone into depression. And it was definitely the reason I kept getting lost in his eyes now.

"Bella, I'm so sorry!" My brow furrowed in confusion at his words. Sorry? For what? I didn't have time to elaborate to myself before he was crossing over to me, in his usual long strides. Before I knew what was going on, a whirl of cold air was surrounding me, and then icy skin was around me—Edward was hugging me, I realized. His skin was just as wet as mine and much, much colder, and I shivered, though I inhaled his scent quite lovingly. He pulled back, too soon in my view. It was a bit before I could form a coherent sentence, but he cut me off as I tried to speak.

"Sorry for what—"

"Bella, please let me apologize."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," I muttered, quickly turning my head away and pretending to look for something on the ground. The truth was, I was too shamed and embarrassed and fleeting to meet his gaze. I was also angry. He was always apologizing for everything, and it did more than just irritate me. Why couldn't he be like normal people? Why couldn't he be indignant, unforgiving and challenging? I didn't even know who I was anymore, wanting someone—or _him_—to be like that, just knowing that I ached for the expected, ached to have people blame me for things, like they'd always done. But no, he always had to surprise me. Why couldn't he be predictable, too? But I knew that I really didn't want him to be, just wanted things to be easy again.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked, voice angry. It was new for me, and I absorbed the utterly irritated tone of his voice. It was not strange, but made his voice slightly rougher. It didn't sound bad, though. I liked it. What the hell was wrong with me? What the hell was wrong with him, asking me why I always did things? _Can't you figure out, Mr. Wonderful? I was hurt, you dumbass. Do you expect me to sing show tunes and say "happy to be me"? Hell no!_

I didn't say that, of course.

"Do what?" I kept my voice only politely interested and detached with condescendence (something I'd mastered from observance) as I looked for something imaginary on the dirt ground. Really there was nothing to look for; all my fruit was long gone in my hunger.

"Always say that people shouldn't apologize, even when they've done you wrong?"

"Because they have no business wanting to apologize," I spat. "Why are you apologizing, anyway? Why do you even care? An apology is nothing. It lasts as long as the day ends. The next day you forget it, and then you're back to where you started. No one wants to apologize to me. If anything, they want to torture me like they always have. So why should I believe you're any different?" I didn't know where the words came from, they were just out there. And I had to admit, that, sickly, I loved it. I loved watching his face twist in pain, loved watching him take in my words and feel the depression behind them. It was just like when I lashed out at him those days before. I loved it. And I couldn't stop myself. But he was angry, too.

"Because if I weren't I wouldn't have wasted my time this far," he replied coolly, and I clenched my jaw. The words stung. I knew it was wrong, but I was hurt—me, who loved hurting other people, was stuck when the words came flying back. I fought back the tears and got up, turning my body to walk away.

"Bella, wait! I'm sorry!"

"No. Don't be. You're right. You're not like everyone else."

"I told you so," he said, relaxing.

"You're not. You're crazy. Insane. I can't believe I didn't get it before," I said, shaking my head and breathing in and out at my own denseness. Why _hadn't _ I seen it before? A man who cared about me, a man who apologized, talked, complimented, made observations and physical contact on _me? _Of course they must be crazy. Because no one wasted their time on Bella Swan if they had the choice.

"Bella, I told you to stop it." He growled. grabbing my shoulders and turning me back.

"Stop what? It's true!"I insisted. Why couldn't he

"No it's not. Is it so hard to believe that you're worth it?" His eyes bored into mine, begging me to understand, to say no, what he wanted to hear. I nodded instead, and his eyes closed, his hands dropping from my shoulders. I longed for the sting of the pulse between us, longed for him to open his eyes again. But instead I turned and walked away—or tried to. I wasn't sure why it was so hard for me now. Wasn't I the one who decided to tell him of my past? So why was I chickening out now? I think it had something to do with the saying "easier said than done".

"Bella, wait. I still have something to ask you." I hurried on, half tripping over my own legs. I stumbled, falling on the bush, and he hurried to catch up with me. I hated it because I wanted him to. I also wanted to run back into the house and hide in my room from the rest of the world and not talk. Being a mute wouldn't be so bad . . .

"Bella, listen," he insisted, drawing me back to him with a tug on my arm. I shook my head, turning away. He growled in the darkness, but must have decided that me still standing here was better than nothing.

"Bella, I'm so terribly sorry. I upset you—I hurt you—and I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry that I provoked you, and I promise—I swear—to never hurt you again." His grasp on my arm became gentler, as if to prove his point. It took me a while to register his words. And then I exploded, in laughter, and anger.

"You . . . think. . . I. . . blew . . . up . . . because . . . of . . . you . . . ?" I choked out angrily in between spurts of mirth.

"Yes. Isn't that why?"

"_No! _Isn't it obvious? _I_ can't have people asking me what's wrong like you did! It's . . . not okay, for me."

"Why?"

I listened to his last words and my mood darkened as I realized that he had asked the question. The question that I was suppose to answer with a complete retelling of my past, with a sad story of how poor little Bella got abused and then sold. And then he'd drift away, convinced then that I was more of a troubled, sad story than I was worth.

What else had I expected?

**Er . . . so what did you think? There it is. The next chapter will have her spilling her guts. He . . . so I know their reunite wasn't so great or romantic or anything, and the dialogue sucked, but I'm sorry! Forgive me for the terrible chapter? Review and don't send any virtual Vikings to come destroy me? **


	16. Chapter 16

_**Hi everyone! Little nervous about writing this chapter. Not sure if I should just dive in and have the whole story spill out at once . . . or take it slow and add romance in it . . . this is chap 16, as it comes to mind. Don't worry if it begins slowly. Things will start to climb up, even when they don't seem like it! Enjoy! **_____

**Edward**

There was a very tense silence between us after my one word question, brooding and dark on her part. I was wondering more over our conversation, and her, to say more.

I had been taking a walk in the garden—courtesy of Alice—thinking of Bella and the distance between us. I had rested my head in my hands numerous times when I thought of Bella's tears that night, her words, the hatred and anger and somehow profound melancholy that burned in her eyes. I had never wished to be able to read Bella's mind more than on that night, never wished I could see what she was thinking so I could make everything better. And then I'd remembered hearing her whisper to Josie "he is worth it" those two days ago, and had felt a jolt of happiness, soon smothered by remembering her vacant, deeply empty and miserable expression.

And her scent—it had lingered in my nostrils, had followed me into the hallway and down the stairs and out the door, and followed me into the garden. Had followed me to the patch of white, soft baby breaths that Esme had planted near the roses. And I'd heard the gasp, spun around by instinct and saw her, her staring at me with an angry and guilty and sheepish and rueful expression on her face, had felt her eyes staring into mine just as intently as mine did hers.

And then she'd stood up. It seemed to have some kind of pivotal effect on me. I could feel something changing—on the outside of me and on the inside, a point in the "friendship" (ha! more like relationship, I thought) between myself and Bella shifting, growing stronger until it was painstakingly obvious.

I had never seen Bella in . . . _that way_ before. Sure, I had felt a pang of something oddly pleasant and frustratingly yearning at the same time, had felt an emotion on the edge of my mind that made me feel like a little kid being teased with a piece of candy dangling in front of him from the hand of someone much taller, always darting upward, too high to reach, before he could grasp it. I had felt it every time Bella and I touched, whenever my bare skin made contact with hers, whenever I got close and felt her breath brushing against my cheek . . . but then it had been soft, on the periphery only. Now it was right in front of my eyes.

I saw Bella in a completely new way. The soft, reddish brown hair that fell over her shoulders and down to her waist, the soft feeling and sweet smelling hair that had framed her face now framed her bosom; the breasts that had once been small and round now looked full, even under her dress; the slim waist that had once looked delicate and petite was now emphasizing her soft, yet somehow full curves that harmonized with her slenderness perfectly; the legs that had once been short and skinny now looked soft and smooth. Over all, the figure that had once been slender and well-formed for Bella in my eyes now looked entirely curvaceous and attractive, inviting; innocently salacious.

It wasn't just my view of her figure that had changed. It was also my view of her face. The deep, beautiful brown eyes that I loved to look into, I wondered how they'd look clouded with lust; the long eyelashes that cast shadows across her cheek when her eyes closed now put into easy vision every movement of her pale lavender lids; the crimson blush that sent a dry burn through my throat now did not only that but sent a roll of lust as well; the full lips that I had once only wanted to kiss out of boyish curiosity now looked sweet, supple, soft, and _kissable_.

The controlled, present Edward in me wondered how I could think of things like that when Bella stood in front of me rain-drenched and wearing an angry, scared, and loathing expression on her face; the dangerous, monster Edward accompanied with a new lust driven one wondered how I'd never. Bella's lips moved, and I struggled to concentrate on her words instead of the movement of her lips.

"Why?" she murmured, looking strangely amused by my question. A low, hard chuckle left her lips, and I scowled. I didn't like this new, foreign Bella—didn't like the hard emptiness of her expression that contrasted with the fear, anger, hatred, melancholy and sorrow burning into her eyes.

"Why . . . .,' she continued without waiting for an answer, looking at my face, as if looking for something there, narrowing her eyes, biting her lip as she made a hard decision. I gulped, hoping the answer to whatever question she was asking herself in her mind might be yes, or no—whichever meant that she'd tell me everything about her past, let me inside.

She was silent for a long moment after that, and I finally got tired of it.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because the moment I'll do you'll go running off and then I'll be sold a day later. And I'm not willing to give up Alice, or Josie, or Courtney, or Lydia, or y-anyone I like here because of you realizing just how worthless I am."

"You aren't worthless," I growled at her, but my words and my tone had to opposite effect. She let out a long, loud hoot of laughter, and then doubled over in it, laughing that seemed more like crying.

"My own father didn't even think so! Do you think I would be here now if my father, my mother, thought I was worth anything? They didn't even want me," she laughed, and then cried very suddenly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laughed and sobbed at the same time.

My next action was instinctive. I pulled her into my arms, hugging her face to my chest and struggling to keep my hands and arms gentle around her. It was hard, because of thirst, and because of the lust that bubbled up whenever I thought of her or looked at her directly. I was stiff, but she didn't seem to notice as she cried.

"Tell me why your father said you were worthless," I urged in a whisper when her sobbing died down. She sniffed and pulled back. I panicked for a moment, struggling to pull her back to me before she could leave. She didn't make any action to leave, however. She lifted a hand up and wiped her eyes, leaning back into me when she was done, eyes closed.

"Because it's true," she moaned, letting out more choked sobs. I strongly disagreed, but didn't talk until she was done crying again, just patting her back and rocking back and forth, very gently, on my feet, pulling her with me like a rocking chair might. S

"No, I meant why did he think so that strongly? Why would he tell you so many times, why would he want to hurt you?"

"Because he hated me," she choked in a whisper, trembling. I realized that my embrace was cold in the already very cold, wet rain and pulled away to try and calm her quivers, but she grasped my shirt, breaking into tears when I moved to pull away.

"Please don't leave me," she begged, leaning her head back to look at me. Her eyes were shiny from crying and pain, and her cheeks were swollen from crying.

"Please don't hate me," she sobbed, choking for a moment on her own tears and then coughing.

"Don't hate me, too," she repeated desperately, voice cracking into a whisper as her eyes closed.

"I don't," I murmured to myself, but I thought she heard it. I desperately, sincerely hoped that she did.

I pulled her out of the rain and into the house, dragging her soaking wet body up the stairs and resting her in my bed, pulling the duvet, cold (bad thing, especially when she was already shivering and wet) from having never been used over her body and leaning in to kiss her forehead.

She slept into the next day, and I spent the time thinking.

I realized, as I stared at her sleeping, remembered her pleas for me not to leave her, not to hate her; stared at her beautiful face and looked over when I first met her at that auction, remembered and saw her smile, her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her smell, her blush, her very skin, that what I felt for her was profound—deeper than just compassion, protectiveness, or pity. It was more than the urge to help, more than polite sympathy, more than friendship. What I felt for her was love—undeniably and irrevocably.

I waited for surprise, shock, denial. But instead what I felt was a strange sort of serenity, a peacefulness that lapped at the gentle rippling waters of my soul. I had known it all along, I realized. That first time we met—I'd known it then. That first time I heard her laugh, the first time I'd talked to her with more than three words, I felt in, knew it. That first time we went somewhere out of the house, I knew it. That storm, those words during that storm, the depression afterwards, that conversation in the rain, I knew it then. And I knew, what I had been denying all this time, I knew it now.

I wondered if she knew it, too. I hoped so. I hoped my love was reciprocated. I believed it was, with half the fibers in my soul—her words, acceptance of my embrace, I hoped that meant that she did. That question she'd been asking herself earlier, I hoped she had answered to herself that she should tell me everything.

Now that I knew that, now that I could smile again sincerely, I could focus on other things, like: was she going to be sick when she woke up? I knew that the answer was yes. Nobody, except for a vampire, could stand in complete rain and wintry air and not catch a terrible cold the next day.

"Edward," she croaked in her sleep, proving my theory and making me happy at the same time. She rolled over, breathing out in an audible gust of air. The bare sliver of the night that was left and much of the next day was spent like that. I listened in on the conversations around the house and keeping my eyes focused on every detail of Bella's face as I did.

I listened in first on Carlisle and Esme.

"Do you think she's okay?" Esme asked tenderly, voice worried.

"I hope so. She's really important to Edward. I'm happy he's finally interested in someone. I guess we didn't change him too early after all."

"Yes! It's wonderful, isn't it! Ooh, maybe I could get Edward to let me go on a picnic with him and Bella someday, or maybe I could teach Bella how to knit . . . it would be fun and I'd get to know her, right?"

"Hmm? Yes, that's a great idea." Carlisle was preoccupied trying to remember something, about Bella. He kept seeing a face in his mind, a younger, smaller face that looked much like a childish version of Bella's.

"What are you really thinking about?"

"Bella reminds me of a little girl whose mother died when she was 7. She looked very much like Bella now, same hair, same eyes, same skin color."

"Maybe that 7 year old is Bella now."

"Maybe . . . maybe she remembered me?"

"Hmm . . ."

I was curious about that but they didn't talk about it more, and so I got bored and drifted to a different conversation. Alice, and Jasper's.

"Ooh! This is _wonderful! _I'm a genius, aren't I Jazzy?" Alice squeaked excitedly.

"Of course you are, hun," Jasper said.

"I can't wait for this Saturday! Bella's going to be so happy at her first market! And then I can buy her something for next week . . ." she remembered a vision of a small restaurant, then must have remembered that she shared the house with a mind-reader, because the vision faded very quickly. I growled. I'd ask her about that. Drifting, again. Rosalie and Emmett.

"It's so stupid!" Rosalie fumed as she stormed around her room, picking things up and then putting them back down in absent-minded anger, and Emmett smiled sheepishly.

"Awe, come on Rose. You know it's not Edwards fault."

"_Not Edwards fault? NOT Edward's fault?"_ Rosalie shrieked and Emmett winced.

"You're right. It's not Edward's fault. It's not Bella's fault. It's ALICE'S fault! Why did she have to just send Edward out there when Bella was out there? The human getting out of depression I could've handled, if she still kept the distance between Edward and herself, but Alice just had to ruin it! Had to smash them together! Why can't she leave things alone! It's none of her business . . . "

_It's none of yours, either, _I thought irritably. I drifted then, to someone else's conversation. Ah, a few of the maids were excited over Bella's absence from the bedroom.

"Do you know what this means?" Josie was saying to another girl named Catherine. Catherine shook her head.

"It means that Bella isn't in the bedroom! She's up doing something!" Not quite true

"Hmm . . . but she wasn't in the bathroom either . . . or the garden when Lydia checked . . . or the kitchen . . . or the living room . . ." Catherine listed the places that had turned up Bella-less on their fruitless attempt to locate her.

"Oh. Wait, do you think she's with Master Edward?" Josie asked, anger flaring.

_It's his fault she was like that in the first place, _she grumbled inwardly. I agreed with her.

"Well, maybe. Or maybe she's with Lady Alice. Maybe she'll come down for dinner."

"Maybe," Josie agreed, cooling down as she looked out the window of the living room.

The day was getting darker. Bella had slept for about 14 hours, and I was starting to get worried. If she didn't wake up within the next half hour, I was going to get Carlisle. I rubbed her hair, trying to will her awake. I pushed off my worry, muttering through clenched teeth to myself that she probably needed the rest, that she'd stayed up for god knew how long.

She woke up very soon after my declaration, however, and I was relieved.

I held my breath while she sat up.

Would her reaction now tell me that last night had been real?

Would the same walls be down, now?

**Bella**

I dreamt of a bright canvas, alight with paint. Reds, blues, greens, purples, every color, every emotion, splashed against it, sometimes swirling into faces, or memories, or names. Most often, I saw myself, and I saw Edward. And most often, I saw hearts and roses, big and colorful.

I opened my eyes, seeing colors that still swirled in front of my mind. And then I felt horrible, not emotionally or mentally, but _physically_. The first thing I noticed was that I was burning up. I was hot, and sweaty, and everything felt too warm, including the heavy blanket that was on top of me now. I kicked it of, thrashing my legs to escape and feel cool air on my skin. It was no help, however. I still felt too warm.

Then I noticed my throat. Itchy, and achy, and sore like hell had just crawled down it. I tried to groan, but it made me feel like someone had punched me right in the middle of my throat where my adam's apple was, lodging their fist into it and having it stuck there. It was that bad.

And then I was aware of heavy, throbbing pain in my head. Someone was hitting me upside the head with a rock repeatedly, and punching me in my temples with their fists. I was sure of it. How else could my hurt so bad at one time? My chest hurt along with it, and when I coughed or groaned or breathed it hurt, badly. My eyes felt puffy and my cheeks swollen. I had a cold. A very bad one, from the feel of it. Great. Heavy sarcasm, that's it.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice murmured, and I turned my head (OUCH!) to stare through too puffy, half closed eyes at Edward by my side. Looking in his anxious eyes, I remembered last night, when I had asked him not to leave me, not to hate me. And then I thought I'd heard "I don't" before I'd passed out. I was really depressed and horrible. What was worse, I didn't regret those words. I felt them in my heart, still wanted to ask them again, just to see if he would say that he wouldn't, that he could never. I needed him. I knew that now more than anything I'd ever.

"No," I tried to say, but it came out as a cracked, dry whisper that I was sure no one who was human could hear. So how did he? I didn't know, but I was grateful. It saved me energy.

"Sh, it's alright. I'm sorry, you have a cold." He was avoiding physical contact, and I twisted my face in desperation, scooting closer to him and trying to rest my head on his chest and get him to hug me. He didn't allow it, but at least he let me rest my head against his shoulder.

I didn't respond. I was too tired, and sore, and hungry, and weak.

"Are you hungry?" I nodded, trying to keep my eyes open. I was failing, I'm afraid. I could barely focus on Edward's face, and my vision blurred. That didn't stop me from seeing Edward as he turned and walked out the room, didn't cease the roll of pain as I watched his back vanished from view. I whimpered pitifully, missing him without even passing two seconds alone. I tossed, struggling to expose as much of my skin as possible to cool air without exposing anything in my bosom or privacies—and without showing any hint of a scar. It was impossible, and eventually I gave up. I was ever glad that for the most part, Edward never seemed to look at my face and hair more than my legs or back, because if he did he would notice the various "veins" on them that were really vicious scars. I was embarrassed and rueful that I had a scar right on my forearm, in clear vision and was glad that it looked like a vein.

I thought over last night, remembered the garden—the conversation especially. I remembered, faintly, a daydream, but the importance of the conversation between Edward and I overruled it.

I remembered him asking me why I felt like I was worthless. I remembered telling him about how my father didn't want me, about how my mother hadn't wanted me, about how no one had. I remembered telling him the complete truth. And begging for him not to pull away, not to leave, not to hate me. The words stung when I remembered them, mostly because he already had left me. I curled my overheated knees to my chest and rested my head between them, trying not to sob but letting a few tears escape.

I wiped my eyes quickly, glad that my already puffy cheeks and eyes would hide the face that I was crying if I removed the moisture. I wasn't sure what to do, now. Should I get up and go on with the day? Or would it be okay to stay in bed? Whose bed was I in, anyway? I didn't remember ever going back to my room last night, and the sheets were much too soft, the cover too heavy, to be a bed in the group bedroom.

I sat up and looked down, recognizing the color of the duvet immediately—it was the same color that Edward's eyes were, when he was happy and optimistic. I was in Edward's room, laying in his bed. I groaned, wincing further at the pain it brought, and dropped back onto the bed. I had taken up his bed for who knows how long? _Nothing to worry about, _I scoffed inwardly. _He has an empty bed most every night and somehow it doesn't stop him from showing up in the weirdest and most coincidental places in the middle of the night._

I was turned away, so I didn't see Edward reenter the room. I felt it, though, when something cold brushed my cheek. I jolted up, startled and wondering if a bug was crawling on my face, trying to swat it away and making myself look ninnyish in front of Edward, who was carrying a tray of soup and water and looking at me like he was wondering if I were crazy. I blushed, looking down. It was strange how . . . _normal _things were between us—even with my words and desperation hanging in my mind.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, resting the tray on the bedside table and putting one hand on my forehead. He was displeased with what he felt there; his lips pulled into a frown. But I was in heaven. His cold skin felt wonderful against mine that was too hot, and I leaned into his hand, loving the contact. He wasn't pulling away, and I took that as encouragement, wrapping my hands around his forearm and pulling closer, pressing against him in the encirclement of his arms.

"Uh—Bella . . . Bella, you need to eat something," he stuttered, pulling away, looking as reluctant as I was to.

"I'm not hungry," I croak-whispered; glad that my hoarse voice disguised the lie. I was just hoping that if I convinced him, I could rest my head on his shoulder again, at the least.

"You still need to eat something, to ease your fever," he insisted, not to be defeated.

"Your skin will work nicely," I whispered under my hoarse, shaky breath, and he heard me. I glared at him. What. The. Hell? There was no way ANYBODY would have been able to hear that, because it was so quiet! What the hell?

"Well you still need to eat. Come on, eat some soup." I debated over my chances of making it out the bed and to the door before he could stop me. To be honest, my chances weren't looking so good. But I didn't want any soup. I felt iffy and horrible, and I didn't think I would be able to take anything close to my throat without choking. He guessed my plan and glared.

"I'll still drag you back and give it to you," he promised. I frowned, scrunching my face up, but finally decided to eat five tiny bites and drink a quarter of water, just to satisfy him. I secretly hoped I might choke and spit up, preferably on him, because he was making me eat and was denying me the relief of his skin. It was selfish, it its own was.

"Fine," I grumbled as I reached for the bowl on the silver tray. He swatted my hands away with a smirk on his face.

"No. Not so fast. You're sick, and tired, and clumsy. You're not feeding yourself, or holding the bowl. I'll help you."

"Forget about the soup," I muttered, turning away and pulling the duvet over my head, closing my eyes and trying to get back to sleep. There was silence. Ah . . . was he going to let me rest? I hoped he was still there, but didn't check despite the neediness clawing at me because I was sure that if I did he might try some kind of scheme to get soup in my mouth. There was his scent here, at least, and that worked for the moment. I closed my puffy, burning eyes and waited for sleep.

I was not prepared for what happened next. The cover was yanked back, and something cold, wet and clear splashed onto my head. I jumped up, shrieking and kicking at an invisible enemy; only to see Edward standing on the side of the bed, smirking.

"If you won't eat the soup, then I'll have to pour the water on you," he said innocently, shrugging. I narrowed my eyes and sighed, deciding to give in to the soup. Having something splash you in the face every time you least expected it would make you want to punch someone in their throat, and I got the feeling Edward might laugh if I tried to do that to him.

"I'll take the soup," I pouted, and something flickered in his expression before he shook his head and turned away, toward the tray on the table. Then he picked up the bowl and turned back, expression completely clear, too clear.

"Sit up," he ordered, and I complied, propping myself up on the pillow. He smiled, then moved closer to me, scooped up a spoonful of the still steaming red liquid and moved the spoon to my lips, indicating that I should open my mouth. I did, and my jaw felt mechanical as it fell open, too wide. He tipped my head back and put the spoon in my mouth, using his long fingers to move my chin up so my lips closed around the spoon.

It took a lot of effort not to spit the food out; it was too hot. It took more effort to try and swallow it. It refused to move down my throat, which always closed before it even had a chance to slip down. Edward sighed heavily.

"Please, Bella. Make some effort?" The food in my mouth cut back my sharp reply. I lifted my chin and forced my throat to stay open as the soup slipped down. It hurt when I swallowed, and I reached a hand to my throat trying to soothe the pain from the outside, moaning as my chest began to ache. Edward patted my shoulder sympathetically, looking like he wasn't sure what else to do.

"Do you want to rest?" I nodded, trying to get the pillow to sit right. He helped me, pulling it into a fluffy, inviting position and laying the blanket over me, despite my protests. I felt something cold, but strangely soft, touch my forehead—his lips? I struggled to stay present long enough to see, but I fell off before I could.

And then I remembered something else, something vague, but that nagged at my memory anyway.

And yet something that I was dying to do.

**Edward**

I watched her fall asleep again. I carried the tray back down to the kitchen quickly and eagerly, ignoring the stares of others, just wanting to get back to Bella. Alice, the devil in the form of a woman, deterred me.

"Edward! I need to talk to you! It's about you and Bella!"

"What do you want now?"

"Well you didn't have to say it like that," she pouted, but quickly perked back up.

"You need to start being more romantic!"

"More 'romantic'?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow at the proposal.

"Yes! You need to start asking questions and showing your emotions to Bella, before it's too late! If you just wait for things to happen on their own , never daring to try and do them yourself, then you'll never get anywhere! It's time to get serious and forget the boyish-girlish relationship like cute little kids! You love her and she loves you. Be serious. Get serious."

"Sure," I nodded, turning my back and going back upstairs.

When I looked at Bella, it was easier to believe that Alice was right. How could anyone be in a relationship with her and not be serious? Bella was too deep, too beautiful a person to be toyed around with. She was not ditzy and convenient, like other girls. She was better, smarter . . . more lovable and admirable than they were.

I should get romantic. Shouldn't I? She'd made it painfully obvious, with those words she'd choked last night that she needed love; protection, care—to be _wanted_. And I did want her, in more ways than just one. But I held back. She didn't seem sure what she wanted. She wasn't able to get over the pain, she wasn't able to love me the same way as I did her. Maybe I should accept that. But I couldn't. I needed to know . . . for certain . . . that she felt the same way as I did, that she was sincere when she looked into my eyes, said deep, beautiful things to me in her alto.

"Edwaaard!" Alice whined, bouncing into my room. I growled.

"Why did I see you pulling away from Bella? Don't you know that the only way to get anywhere, is sometimes, to make the first move? You have to show her what you feel first! Seeing is believing, and that applies to Bella! She won't believe it until she sees it! What don't you get?"

"How do I know that she still won't believe it after I show her because of her past? How do I know what to do, what to tell her, when she seems determined that I'm lying, or crazy? Alice, I don't know what her father did to her. I don't know how to help, because she won't tell me."

"Maybe that's what I'm getting at! Do you think Bella would tell you right away as soon as you asked? How would she know that you cared? You _have _to _show _her!"

"Sure, Alice," I said curtly, turning back to look at Bella. Imagining what it might be like to have the courage to say the simple three words that I'd been dying to tell her. To press my lips to hers and feel her heat radiating through me, to have confidence enough to kiss her and caress her face without waiting for her to invite me, or tell me first, or move to kiss me first.

"Seeing is believing," she repeated before walking away and closing the door behind her. I turned back to Bella, who was beginning to stir. Of course I'd love to be romantic with her. I was a just too big of a coward, fearful that showing her how much I really loved her might push her away. But if Alice said that she knew it would work, then she must have had seen something, or else she'd never tell me to do that. Not if she wasn't positive herself. So there it goes. I would have to test my faith in Alice, I guess.

Bella was awake in the next fifteen minutes. She stared at me for a while through her half closed eyes, rubbed her eyes and then scooted near the edge of the bed, closer to me. I hesitated. Should I do something now, while she was sick? Or wait until she was better . . .

_Go for it, Eddie! _Alice cheered. I tried to ignore the fact that she used my least favorite nickname. Bella was much more important. I stood up and walked to the other side of the bed and sat down, laying back and swinging my legs onto the bed. She turned back and smiled, then came closer to me.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, reaching to pull a lock of hair that covered her face behind her ear. Her cheeks burst into flames, and my throat long with them. My hand didn't linger long on her skin. She was irritated, and reached up to press one of my cold hands to her still overheated forehead. She sighed in what I think was contentmant.

"You still have a fever," I noted.

"Your hands are so cold. They help," she repllied as if there was nothing strange about having icy cold skin. She truly perplexed me. But what Alice had said, about romancing . . . should I try, now? And what subject to bring up?

My mind brought me back to the subject we'd discussed the night before. I still traced the outcome of that with my mind, and I still wanted answers. But was Bella willing and well enough to give them? I looked at her, for a moment, and then decided. If I wanted answers, I'd have to follow Alice. Show Bella romance.

I titled my head for a moment, debating, then wrapped my arms around Bella's waist and leaned in close. The position was hard to maintain, because Bella kept rolling and turning and each time she did I would brush against her chest, or back, or arm, or, even once, her bottom. I leaned in close and sniffed her hair in what I hopped were silent breaths. Maybe humans' hearing was senstive during a cold, or maybe it was because Bella observed so much, but she heard.

"Edward?" she murmured, staring up at me. "What are you doing?"

"You smell wonderful," I whispered, hedging her question and rubbing my nose over the very soft, very wavy dark curls. I smelled the incense of her blush.

"Thank you. That's . . . really flattaring . .," I could tell she was struggling to understand my sudden change in mood, and to hide her skepticism.

"I mean it," I whispered, pressing my face against her shoulder and trying to ignore the pulsing of her blood right near my ear, on her neck. Bella's heart was racing, and I listened to it, glad that I could have that effect on her.

"What day is it?" I knew she was trying to change the subject, but I humored her.

"Thursday. You have a trip with Alice in two days."

"What . . . ?"

"Didn't you remember your off day this Saturday? Andyour fortcoming trip to the market with Alice?"

"Uh . . . yes, I was thinking about other things," she replied vaguely, eyes darting to my face and then away once.

"What were you thinking about? Or what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing you'd like to know about," she muttered, shaking her head. I clenched my teeth, trying not to let irritation win. I was getting somewhere with Bella; I couldn't let frustration win now.

"I think I would. I want to know everything about you." I used my fingers to tilt her chin up so she looked at me, and for a moment we stared at each other, for what seemed like just the purpose of staring.

"Um . . . no . . . if I tell you . . .then you'll just leave . . . " She came closer to me despite the closeness already between us and wrapped her arms around my waust, pulling closer and pressing against me. I was glad, overjoyed that she implied that she didn't want me to leave (not like I ever would) but more relieved and frustrated at the same time that she didn't seem to know what kind of effect she was having on me. I bucked my hips and then sat still, trying not to make any uncontrolled movements. It was hard, with her pressing against me like this, feeling every curve of her body . . .

"I won't. I can't."I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent. It gave me courage, strength, to get past my insecurity around her.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be impossibly easy."

"It wouldn't be easy. I would never do it, anyway."

"Why not? Why shouldn't you?" I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and then answered, slowly.

"Because Bella . . . I love you."

**Bella**

"Because Bella . . . I love you," he whispered against my neck. I froze for an indefinite amount of time.

Edward . . . loved me. And his voice was so sincere.

I looked over my time with Edward.

How many times had he complimented me, laughed with me, smiled at me, stared at me, asked me questions about me, helped me, hugged me, worried about me, insisted that I was wrong about what I thought of myself, taken care of me, been patient, looked in my eyes, at my face, while he said all these things, how many times had he tried to help me, how many times had he not been angry when I pushed him away?

How many times had he opened his heart? How many times had I pulled away and left it bleeding?

How many times had he forgiven me?

Too many times. Too many times for me to deserve. And now he was telling me that he loved me. And now I had trouble accepting it.

How many times had I longed for those words to come from his mouth, how many times had I wished that he felt as addicted to me as I did him? How many times had I doubted that any of my wildest dreams would happen, and how many times had he surprised me?

How many times did I wish for him to tell me he loved me?

And how many times did I want to say "I love you, too" to somebody without lying?

Edward loved me. Edward loved me . . . . Edward loved me . . . I ran it through my head again and again, trying to take it in. _Edward _loved _me_. Maybe, my past wasn't so bad, maybe being a slave wasn't so horrible, because both led me to Edward.

Edward, who I loved.

Edward . . . who, for that love, needed to know what I'd been keeping not-so-well-hidden before. And he needed to know it now, or soon, before it all wasted away. Before, some day, nothing would be the same, we'd return to just polite friends—or worse, we would drop to slave and master. He needed to know. Soon.

Edward stared at me, and as he did his gaze became saddened. I knew what he thought—that I didn't feel the same way, that I was about to pull away, again. I pulled closer, to show him that I wasn't going to. And then I took a deep breath and returned to him, paying back as much as he'd given me as I could at that time.

"I love you, too. Always."

I shivered, feeling the guarding walls I'd built drop, all at once, to reveal me behind them, shivering.

I remembered my mother's riddle. It seemed to apply to now. 

_When are you most vulnerable? _

_When you let somebody inside your heart. _

I knew it wasn't the answer, but it was the answer for right now.

Edward was smiling at me with an excitement that I'd never seen before. But his wide, face-splitting smile contrasted with the look in his eyes—the look that, if he could, he might be crying. I knew that they would be tears of joy, and not of pain or sorrow.

"Bella . . . do you really . . . could you . . ." he stuttered, shaking his head, and then, despite the look in _his _eyes, I was the one crying. But not of pain, not of pain. I leaned my face into his chest, soaking his shirt. He didn't seem to care, wrapping his arms around me and stroking my hair, rubbing my back with the other hand.

"What's wrong, my angel?" His words only added to my joy, and skepticism. I was not the angel, he was. I was the wicked witch who cursed everyone, and he was the angel that reached down and picked me up.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm _happy. _Happy," I repated, for emphasis he wouldn't understand.

"Haven't you ever been before?"

"No. Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because . . ." I hesistated, closing my eyes. It was time to fess up. Oddly, I was ready for it. I was ready to let him in, and I was ready to trust him. When you'd just admitted to someone you loved them and had them admit it back, sincerely, not absent-mindedly, ground-breakingly, how could you not be ready to trust them? I had to trust Edward now. He was the only one I had that would understand, that could help me, make me forget, help me get over it.

I remembered what I'd thought just a month ago. That before I could love anybody, trust anyone, make myself vunerable, then I would have to get over my past. On my own. It was so stupid, I realized now. There was no way I could do that, no way I couldn't without Edward. I needed him, completely, almost like a person might need air to survive. And I could see, admit that now. Now that I was finally going to tell him.

"Because . . . because of my father. He didn't hate me, not before my mother died, I think. But . . . when she got sick, he blamed it on me. And after she died, he got worse and worse, and he said he hated me and that I was nothing, that I was ugly, that I would never be anything." I said the words carefully. They were a start. They told the most basic and true of it all. I waited for his reaction, waited for him to say something, or pull away, or hug me, or _something_.

"He was wrong. He knew nothing."

"He knows nothing," I corrected.

"Knows?"

"Yes. I think he's still alive, somewhere. And sometimes . . . I wonder if he remembers me, and I wonder if he regrets what he said, what he did. And sometimes I imagine him coming back for me, apologizing and telling me he loves me and us together, laughing and talking like other fathers do with their daughters, going to dances and eating and being happy. But he never does. He never will."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning down and kissing my forehead. But I wanted his lips somewhere else . . .

"Don't be. It's not like you could understand, because you never experienced it."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and I cuddled up to him as apology to my sharp words.

"Do you want to know more, or is that enough?"

" . . . I'd like to know more, but if you don't want me to tell you, if you aren't ready . . ." Though he was trying to be patient and understanding, I heard the sacrifice between the lines, saw it in his eyes. I shook my head. I was ready to tell him, I think. My throat just felt like hell.

"No, it's fine. My throat just hurts when I talk. It's okay. Just a cold," I added when he began to look concerned.

"Do you want me to get Carlisle?"

I shook my head, but he insisted relentlessly and got up to go get his father. I laid back over the bed, feeling a warm sensation tingle up my spine. I loved it. Love loving someone. Loved telling a secret and trusting someone else with it. I loved it, everything about loving.

When he walked in with his father, I sighed. Edward seemed to spend most of his time worrying. If I ever got a great immune system, or stopped bruising so easily, or learned something about balance, he would have to find a new hobby to take on.

"Bella," Carlisle nodded.

"Hi, Dr. Cullen."

"Call me Carlisle," he smiled warmly and I smiled back weakly, though sincerely. Even though the pain of remembering him telling me that my mother had died those years ago still lingered, I could learn to stop letting it affect the way I acted around him, and remember that he was only doing his job when he told me.

"She has a cold," Edward cut in, brow furrowed, and Carlisle turned back to me, observing my appearance. I blushed.

"Is she going to be okay?" Edward pressed anxiously. I rolled my left eye, the one Edward couldn't see, at Carlisle and he laughed.

"I haven't even begun the examining yet," he said. Then he pressed his hand to my forehead, asked me about my throat and my chest pain, asked if I had a headache (I had had one, but it'd faded. Or maybe I was just too caught up in Edward.)

"She'll be okay. I'll get Esme to make some lemon tea with honey for the soreness, and then some ginger and honey for the chest congestion."

Edward was by my side when Carlisle left, pulling me to his chest.

"Do you want to hear more now that you're done worrying?"

"Not until you've taken the things Carlisle suggested." I sighed and tried to roll off of him, so I could get downstairs and into the kitchen, but Edward held on firmly.

"You're sick. Lay down. Relax." I tried to comply, but some of the irritation and tension lingered. Edward rubbed my back. We laid there like that, surely looking like a couple.

Carlisle came up with the tea and giner-honey mix pretty soon, along with Esme.

"Bella! I hope you get better, honey! I added some sugar to the tea, I hope that's okay!" I nodded, smiling warmly. She beamed and set the tray with the two cups on the bedside table, gracefully sweeping out the room.

Edward sat up, pulling me with him , and wrapped his hand around my stomach like I was a baby in his lap while he leaned over to get the tea. I glared at his arm, hoping he might feel it, and then grabbed the cup away from him as soon as I could. He chuckled, and that made me glare again. He sat up more and pulled my by the waist fully into his lap, again like a baby.

"You don't have to do that," I grumbled.

"I know." He flashed me a smile. I rolled my eyes and sipped at the tea. It tasted good. It wasn't long before the cup was gone, and then Edward gave me the ginger-honey cup. He told me not to swallow it, but to wait for it to slide down my throat. I thought I heard laughter somewhere in the house, but I wasn't sure. I did as he said, and it relieved some of the chest pain, at least.

"Do you want to hear more now, or are you still treating me like a toddler?"

"Hmm . . .," his eyes were thoughtful, and he leaned down to brush the bridge of his nose against my cheek. I blushed, but didn't protest. I liked the easiness between us, now that . . . things were final.

"What is it?"

"It seems much easier, now, for you to talk about your father . . . and I was just wondering if maybe that was because you'd gotten over it?"

"No. It's not because I got over it. I don't think I ever will. It's just . . . you. It's not so painful when I'm with you."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Feeling that way," he murmured. He leaned in and whirled his breath around my face, smiling crookedly. His eyes looked like they were melting.

"Alright, do you want to hear more or not?"

"I'll be good."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

"Fine, then. Well . . . my mother, she tried to spend time with me, before she got sick. She took me to see the ocean, she drew sketches for me, taught me to crochet, sew, you know. And it was like my father loved me then, and maybe he did. And then, my mother got sick. No one knew what she had. It was like it was something totally new that no one else had caught before. My father called your father, Carlisle, to take care of her, to try and help her—"

"Carlisle was you mother's doctor?"

"Yes. That's why I was so shocked, when I saw him that time . . . well you remember it," I hurried past that part, seeing the pain in his eyes and feeling it myself. "And when he came, everything changed. No one was allowed to see my mother, and then my father . . . he got depressed. And then he changed. He didn't smile at me anymore, and when I said I loved him he didn't respond. And then one day, he came into my room and he hit me. It was just little slaps at first . . . but then it got bad. He punched me, kicked me, slapped me, threw things at me, hit me with glass bottles and plates, pulled my hair, stabbed me . . . and that was the best of the worst. He sometimes left me outside during the winter, and when I got sick he said it was my fault and he beat me and scratched me and laughed at me when I cried. And I couldn't go to anyone, because my mother was sick and Carlisle was never around long enough for me to tell him and when I did get the chance my father was always there. No one in the neighborhood would've believe me, because my father was one of the most respected and people wouldn't believe he would hit his child. My grandmother died before my mother got sick, and I didn't know any other family members. So I was alone, and I had no choice but to get beaten every day of my childhood." I choked at the memory, and Edward gripped me, tightly. It hurt, but I didn't struggle.

"And then, when I was 7, my mother died. Before the funeral, my father cut me all around my legs and arms and back and he burned marks into my skin and cut me in my scalp . . . and then, after the funeral . . . things got better. Or some people, definitely, would say worse. But to me, it was better.

"What happened after the funeral?"

"In my mother's Last Will and Testament, she stated that I was supposed to be an indentured servant after her death,"

"What?"

"Yes. I think she did it because she loved me." He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "When she was sick, we both knew she was going to die. And I think that when she wrote her will (she did it while she was sick, because the ink still looked fresh when they read it) she knew that my father was beating me. And so she sold me. It was the best thing she could ever do for me. I was supposed to inherit the estate, legally, after I turned 18, but I was sold into slavery before then and I lived like that, from house to house, abusive master to abusive mistress, beating to beating, until that day a few months ago when you bought me at that auction. And then things really got better. And now I'm having the best time I've ever had in my life. The end."

"What do you mean "the end?"

"The end. The end of my life story."

"It's not the end. You still have many days to come," he said, with a strange tone in his voice.

"Well, the end of my bad life story. I still remember, sometimes. I'm still scarred. . . physically and mentally."

"You still have scars?" he asked, seeming disturbed, angry, and surprised. I couldn't help a hard laugh.

"What did you expect? For me to tell you that they had faded? No. They're still there. Some of them are easily hidden . . . and some aren't," I murmured as I absent-mindedly traced over the long, pinkish scar on my arm. Edward winced and lifted my arm, tracing the scar with his cold finger. His eyes were so pained, as if looking at it stabbed him. He kissed the scar, rubbing his nose against it, softly. But there was curiousity in his eyes behind the comforting tenderness.

"You want to see the other scars, don't you?"

"I would like to . . ." again, the hesitation.

"Right now?" I wasn't sure if I was ready to show him right now, and I was glad that he answered no.

"No. Not now. It's late. You should sleep."

"I'm not sleepy."

"It's late," he repeated as if I'd said nothing. "Sleep."

"But I—"

"Sleep," he hushed me, moving from under me and pulling the blanket up. I sighed, closing my eyes, perplexed by his sudden intensity.

That night, in my dream, I was running. But I was not running from anything. No, not anymore. Instead, I was running to something—to Edward, to hearts, to colors, to love, to pure white and splashes of hue, leaving the empty blackness and my past behind, making them eat my dust as I breezed by.

_**What do you guys think? I know this was too long, rushed in the wrong places and dragged out in others, but I'm sorry! And sorry that I added so much romance and marshmallow fluff. I really wanted to! Hope people enjoyed it. Next chapter will be short recount of Alice's and Bella's trip to the market. This chapter was 17 pages long! Wow . . . I'm surprised at myself, usually I can't write this far without fizzing out. Review, etc!**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Hi everyone! How are you? Glad everyone liked chapter 16. And now that I've gotten the "okay" for romance, expect it. A lot of it. He he *evil smile* Oh, and some people wanted to know what Edward was feeling, so I'm going to add some of his POV in this chapter. Er. . . I know the "lust" that Edward had in this chapter was kinda lame. . . but not really experienced in that department. Have fun!**_

**Edward**

I was almost heartbroken when I heard Bella tell me. I didn't see it. I didn't see how anyone, how any father could simply beat their child so cruelly, as if it were something normal, something for enjoyment. Had her father simply become tired of being a father, simply became too stressed with her mother's sickness and later death and having to take care of Bella? Had, one day, he decided to give up on it, on her?

Bella's eyes were wide and shiny with what looked like moisture as she told me how she imagined her father coming back to her and telling her that he loved her. And I realized, staring into her wide eyes and looking at her expression, which seemed oddly childlike; a side of Bella I'd never seen before, that she still loved her father. She still loved him, maybe unconditionally. Unconditionally; the type of love a child might have for his mother and father while he was a small child. And Bella could still love that way for more than two reasons—I think.

Maybe she could still love her father because she had such a big heart, such an instinct for forgiveness and affection, when she let someone in long enough to show them that. And the other reason was because, maybe, all she ever had for anyone was unconditional love. When you were scarred, when you had to learn to grow-up fast or face being beaten again, when you were older, an adult, did childhood return? Did you have the same emotions, actions, if not look, of a child?

Bella told me about her scars while she traced her arm—over the same vein I'd seen when I'd carried her to Alice's bedroom that one time after she collapsed. It was a scar, long and pinkish red. I reached out and wrapped a large hand around her thin wrist, drawing her arm closer to my eyes. It was so clear from this close of a view, but even for a vampire it looked like a vein from a distance. I could see it clearly, the sudden break in her creamy, smooth skin. It hurt to look at it, to imagine how it might have come to be. I looked back into her face and saw her twisted expression, saw the sensitivity behind the forced calmness, saw the insecurity that dwelled behind her eyes.

She was still beautiful. Even with the scar that touched her skin, the clear break, she was still beautiful. Maybe the scar added to her beauty. Either way, I couldn't find any disgust, any laughter, any contempt or condescendence. She was beautiful, no matter how many scars or tears she had on her skin, and I was very sure she still would be even if she had distorted features.

I brought her arm near my mouth and leaned down to press my lips to her scar, very carefully. No open mouth, because of my teeth. No deep inhales, because of my thirst. All I felt was complete warmth coming from her skin, covering my face, my lips, like a blanket. And the electricity that had almost become subconscious—now it pulsed and tingled, strongly, like it was new. It was all I could not to let my mouth trail up her skin, to her mouth . . . her neck . . . her collar-bone . . . and below, her breasts. . . under her dress, trailing my fingers down her smooth, soft skin and feeling her squirm under me . . .

_Stop! _I breathed out heavily and concentrated on Bella's arm only. There was curiosity inside my mind—did she have other scars, where were they, would I ever get to see them?

"You want to see the other scars, don't you," she murmured.

"I would like to . . . ," I admitted hesitantly. I wasn't sure if that was okay. Was she asking because she wondered if the curiosity I felt was of that, or was she asking because she was going to show me? I didn't know, and I didn't ask. I had just began to have a hold on her, a good hold, and I was not about to risk drawing her away. I still remembered when she said she loved me, too. And she'd added that "always" that I'd wanted to add but hadn't, hadn't because I was sure she would feel rushed if I did. And yet it'd backfired on me.

"Right now?" _Yes. Of course! _I screamed internally, but heard Alice's head interrupt my answer.

_I know you plan to say yes, but don't. Wait, just a little while longer. It'll be worth it, you'll see! _

I growled but complied. Don't bet against Alice. And if what she'd told me in her head, "wait a little while longer" had anything to do with what she was scheming for this Saturday and next week, then I knew she was probably planning a night for Bella and I like the devil she truly was.

"No. Not now. It's late. You should sleep." She looked like she needed more sleep, and I didn't want her to feel tired tomorrow. And, I didn't want to have to wait half the day tomorrow to look in her eyes again and hear her voice, other than in her sleep. And I needed to ask Alice something—but I didn't want to leave Bella's side while she was awake, not while we could still talk and she could still humor me with her voice when I prodded for it.

"I'm not sleepy."

"It's late," I repeated. "Sleep."

"But I—," she began.

"Sleep," I hushed her gently, sliding from under her and pulling the blanket up, waiting for her eyes to close and for her breathing to become hollow. I hesitated. Should I ask Alice now? It was good logic: the sooner I went and talked with Alice, the sooner I could return to Bella.

Oh, but I didn't want to leave! Though Bella wasn't talking or moving, I was still obsessed with her.

And then there was lust . . .

It was innocent, almost school-boyish, but I had to be careful. If I let it slip by without watching it, it would grow. And grow.

But somehow, even when I loved the mystery of her face, I couldn't help letting my eyes stray down to her body.

I watched the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, curving lightly over her chest evenly, and spread wide, not thin or sharp. They were perky, upright, even without . . . the _undergarments _that most other women wore, to hold them in place. Even under the blanket, I saw the soft, round contours of Bella's hips, the narrow turn of her waist. And her scent. Like roses, curling around me in delicate tendrils. Her warmth spread around me, and I wrapped myself in it as best as I could.

Her skin was soft, smooth. I stroked her cheeks gently while she rested in slumber. Maybe it was violating her privacy, to touch her in the innocence of sleep, but she lured me in every time. Her skin always looked perfectly flexible and soft; her features always curving and perfectly formed. Her hair fell over her thin shoulders and curled around her face, curling strands caressing her forehead.

Everything about her screamed vulnerable, innocent, in a way that frustrated me. I wished she weren't human, wished that I could let my lust driven Edward out for a little while without fear.

Behind the ache of want, there was sadness. Her father abusing her, driven by his own emotions, needing something to let it out on—that was truly wicked, truly something that deserved to get him sent to hell . . . or whatever was lower. Looking at Bella, I could see a smaller, weaker, more innocent and vulnerable (is that possible) version of her, could see her same deep eyes, could see the plea for help there. And I wondered. . . . how many scars were there? How many battle marks did she bear, how many burns and scratches lingered on her skin?

I closed my eyes and kissed her on the forehead, standing up and going down the hall to Alice's room.

"I already know what you're going to ask me, and I'm not going to tell you what I have planned for next week. It's a surprise. Don't ruin it. You'll thank me for it later. And I think you should go to the market with Bella and I," she said without taking a pause for breath. Her eyes were serious, but I saw the excitement that shone there. She'd seen something. Something between myself and Bella. And it was good.

"Why?"

"Well . . . I think it'd be good if we all went to the market! And if you went, you could buy something for Bella. And don't say you don't know what she'd want, because I told you and you've already asked her about it." Shit.

"Alice,why are you being so insistent? What did you see?"

"Shut up, Edward. You'll ruin the surprise. But I think you should come with us."

"Why?"

"Please, Edward! It'll be fun! And Bella's going to love whatever you buy!"

"Fine. I'll go . . . what time are you leaving?" Though I was reluctant, the idea of buying Bella something nice pleased me. She deserved nice things. And I could certainly get them for her—and give them, from myself. I would give her my heart, and the world, on a silver platter, if she asked, just once.

"Oh, you're not going with us! You're going in the spare carriage."

"What? Why can't I travel with you two? There's enough space." I _didn't _like the idea of not seeing Bella's face as we traveled, not being near her, not talking to her. . . even for the shortest period of time . . .I couldn't last without seeing her that long. Maybe it was pathetic, but after I spent five long days away from her, with her not coming out her room or speaking—or ever seeing her eyes open, hearing her voice talking to _me_, I didn't want to lose her again. I didn't want to share her. I wanted her to be mine. And only mine. I was selfish, to want to and keep pulling her with me and away from everyone else, but what else could I do, when it hurt to think of being away from her?

"Edward. Bella is my friend too. I didn't see her for five days. And I need to catch up. And I heard, what she said, earlier. After she admits something like that, she's going to need help. And you can't give it to her, this time, because she told you. She's going to need someone else, someone who doesn't know everything about her, who she doesn't feel insecure or awkward or sad around. And, I know you don't want to share, but there are other people who missed Bella too, Edward. She's special to me to . . . not in the same way that you feel for her, of course, anyone could know, but in another way, a sisterly, come-to-me-for-anything way. And I think that asking for some time with her is fair."

"Of—of course, Alice. Sure. I'll ride in the spare cart. And thanks." I ducked my head and went out the door as I murmured the words, knowing she was doing a victory dance but not caring enough to feel embarrassed. I was too much in Bella.

She was still asleep, her soft body laying over the sheets like an angel.

I kissed her forehead again, wishing for my lips to touch so many other, not-so-innocent-anymore places, but holding myself back. Bella needed. . . time. And Bella didn't have the same interest for me, or men (I hope), not now. Maybe not ever, considering how deep her scars went.

Scars. They always remind us that the past is real.

**Bella**

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window. I still felt horrible. It was going to be by a miracle if I had energy to get up on Saturday. The scent of Edward wafted toward me, but I wasn't sure if that meant he was with me or if it was just his bed.

"Good morning," a soft, velvety voice breathed, and I rolled over to see Edward seated in a chair beside the bed, dark shadows under his eyes—they were black. I felt guilty. Had he stayed awake all night long? I hadn't meant to take up his bed and keep him from sleep . . .

"Did you sleep last night?" I murmured groggily, and he smiled as if thinking of some kind of inside joke.

"I slept in this chair. I didn't want to violate you by sleeping in the same bed . . .," he trailed off, eyes suddenly curious and melancholy, and I knew where his thoughts were going.

"It's okay. In my . . . last house . . .," I winced, "I slept in the same bed as boys all the time. It was too small for everyone to have their own bed."

"I know. But those boys were servants, just like you, and not . . . masters, like I. And it really is unheard of for a male master to sleep in the same bed as a female servant."

"And isn't it unheard of for them to love each other?"

"Point taken."

"So it really doesn't matter. You wouldn't try anything." He smiled at me, almost knowingly, and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes, loving the feel of his lips on my skin. For a brief second, I thought of "accidentally" moving my head up so his lips touched mine. But I was sure I would get in trouble for that.

"No . . . I wouldn't. But still, it would be wrong."

"Male masters sleep in the same room as their personal maids sometimes. What's the difference?"

"You're not my personal maid." He frowned, a look of regret.

"What if I was?"

"But of course," he lifted my hand and kissed the back of it.

"Fine, then. But I don't see why I have to be for us to sleep in the same room, or whatever. I mean, I'm not saying that I'm thinking of it as a permanent thing, I'm just saying that as long as I'm sick we'll have to . . ."

"Right," he nodded, eyebrows drawn together. I stared at him for a moment, wondering at his regretful expression. It reminded me of a sulking child.

"What time is it?

"Around eight o' clock."

"Time for breakfast, I guess," I moved to get up, but he came closer and stopped me. The electricity I had failed to notice in the past few days now shot forward like a lightning bolt, stinging me in a good sort of way. I smiled at him in confusion, moving to get up again.

"You should stay in bed."

"I'm fine. I can eat. I'll come up as soon as I'm done. I promise."

"I'll bring it up to you."

"No, it's okay Edward. What are you worrying over?"

"You're sick . . . I don't want you to strain yourself."

"I'm not. I can walk perfectly fine."

"Let me help you downstairs."

"Awe, Edward . . . you don't have to. I can walk myself. I'm sure you have other things to do, anyway."

"No. I can help you. Let me," he insisted hand tightening around my arm. I wiggled away but sighed in defeat when I saw the look of pure protectiveness in his eyes.

"Fine. But only downstairs."

"Sure," he patronized me, much to my frustration. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd have someone help me upstairs, too.

"Alright, let me get up," I ordered. He let go of me but still hovered by the bedside. I rolled my eyes and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, hastily standing to show him that I didn't need help. I almost fell back onto the bed. I was dizzy and the walls swirled around, out of their place.

"Oh!" I gasped, and Edward was by my side before I could even take another inhale. I didn't ask how he was so fast. I was too dizzy.

"I told you to let me help you," he fretted.

"Edward, I told you so has a brother," I muttered.

"Really? What's his name?" he asked curiously.

"Shut up."

"Very funny. I'm killing myself laughing. Come on." He pulled me upright and towed me to the door and down the hall, not seeming to notice that I was using all my strength to wiggle away. I blushed when the stares of other maids down this hall followed us, and gave Josie an apologetic look when I saw her glaring at Edward.

"Here you are," Edward announced as he unceremoniously dropped me into a chair. Some maids were still at breakfast, and they stared at me. Courtney was a look of shock, Lydia's was one of . . . jealousy? Delacia was groggy, as usual, Heather was smiling shyly, and Catherine had one eyebrow raised.

"I'll come get you when you're done." Did he notice the stares, or was he a champion at ignoring people? No, I take that back, he's a chapion at over protectiveness.

"Sure," I murmured weakly as he left.

"What's going on with you and Edward," Lydia asked as soon as he was gone. I shrugged, not wanting to admit that we were. . . more than friends. I still couldn't get used to it, but I liked it. The openness between us since I admitted my past to him was something I didn't like—I was not used to vulnerability, or depending on someone else, but it was not something I regretted. I still wanted to cry sometimes when I thought of my father—I hoped Edward never saw it in my face—but Edward didn't need to know that. He only needed to know the summary of . . . what my father had done to me. No details. It took me a moment to realize Lydia was stil lwaiting for an answer.

"We're just friends," I shrugged, but my now healed voice revealed the lie. She narrowed her eyes.

"It doesn't look like it. Are you blind to the way he looks at you, or is there just something you don't want us to know?"

"Leave her alone, Lydia!" Courtney snapped. "It's her business, not ours."

"Well, I'm sorry for wondering about my friend! We never see you anymore, Bella. It's like we're just people we see in the hallway or whatever. I know it's not like we were best friends in the first place or anything, but we still care about you."

"I know. I'm sorry. Edward is just . . . very over protective."

"Of you."

"Yes. And I don't see why. I'm not anything special, or anything."

"The beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say, but maybe you should show the reverse," Catherine mused.

"I know I'm not beautiful," I shrugged.

"You're very pretty," Heather murmured as I took a bite of waffle.

"Thanks for the flattery," I muttered.

"But seriously, what's up with you and Edward? He doesn't even look at any of his family that way, like he might die if something happened to them," Lydia persisted.I shrugged again. I didn't even understand that.

"I don't know, either. Maybe you should ask him."

"Or maybe you should." I shrugged again and rose to leave. I wasn't feeling hungry anymore. I turned towards the doorway to the eating room, only to see Edward standing there, a curious expression on his face, and an amused one. I glared at him as I walked out the room.

"How did you appear just when I got finished eating?" I demanded. It seemed he was always appearing right when a person needed him to, or when someone mention talking to him—there he was. And he seemed to know where I was, even in the middle of the night—how else had he appeared in the garden I was in, same section, same time? Come to think of it, I now had a new curiosity on the night he saved me from Rosalie, it was too much to be a coincidence.

"I was coming to check on you, actually. Quite a coincidence, isn't it?" he flashed me a crooked smile as if attempting to melt my ability to retort, but I looked away, diminishing the affect.

"Yep. Just like how you seem to appear out of nowhere in the middle of the night when I'm roaming the halls or the garden, yet you never appear on anyone else. And like the fact that you're always shockingly on time, and you always appear when I need you to—has this ever happened before?"

"No one else runs into as much trouble as you."

"I'm a magnet for it. Hasn't what I told you last night told you that?" I said bitterly, hardly regretting the deep frown and apology in his eyes.

"Bella, I'm sorry. I know that I haven't been . . . fair, but I'm trying." He smiled, the kind of desperate one that begged for one in return, except he wasn't the one asking for reassurance, he was trying to reassure me, to see me smile so I could be happy.

"It's okay. I'm fine. I'm going to work now, I guess."

"No. You should stay in bed."

"I'm fine. I feel better. Really."

" . . . You can work . . . "

"Great. I'm glad I could convince you to stop worrying."

"If ," he continued. I groaned. "You stay with me."

"Why are you being so overprotective?" I muttered irritably. All day, it seemed as if he were watching over me like a fragile little baby. Maybe I was a bit sick, and maybe I was clumsy, but he was acting as if I might need a doctor at any moment. I half expected him to carry me up the stairs when I reached the foot of them.

"What, you're not going to carry me up the stairs?"

"Would you like me to?"He raised both eyebrows and stretched his arms out, moving to pick me up.

"Nevermind," I grumbled.

"Why are you so irritable?"

"Because you're treating me like a toddler."

"You are sick, you know. I can't help it."

"I'm not really sick anymore, Edward. My throat is better, my voice is better, I can walk, and I don't feel like I'm about to explode."

"Well, still—"

"Is this about me being sick, or something else?"

"About you being sick." I could tell he was lying by the guarded, wary look in his eyes and the way he seemed to be groping for something else to talk about.

"You know you could tell me what it really is, Edward. I won't get mad at you, or desert you again. I really am sorry for that. I'm sorry," I repeated desperately as his expression softened.

"I don't blame you. I don't hold anything against you."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"I'm afraid you might be sad . . . or mad."

"I won't be. I promise."

"You can't promise me that."

"Why not?" I asked angrily.

"Because you don't know how you'll respond," he murmured simply.

"Well, tell me anyway."

"Bella . . . you were . . . gone, for nearly six days. I was afraid I might never see you smile, or laugh, or talk to me, again. I don't want to share you now that you are."

"You don't have to share me," I told him, hugging him for emphasis.

"Yes I do." But he didn't pull away from the hug, just wrapped his arms around me. "Everywhere I go, there's always someone snatching you away for something else before I've felt I spent enough time with you. And Alice is always stealing you away for dress-up—which I find completely useless, when you could spend the time with me instead. I know it's selfish, to stake such a claim on something that couldn't rightfully be mine, but you're too addicting for your own good. And I feel like . . . it can never be just you and me, talking, with no interferences, no one getting in the way, no distractions."

"Well . . . it doesn't have to be like that. We could go somewhere. That restaurant, where we went that one time. We could go for a walk in the garden, or go to an art showing, or—"

"Other people. I want it to be just you, and me, and no one else. Nothing at all that could get in the way."

"Well, we might as well just stay here, because there is no way there couldn't be people around! You have a whole family, not to mention the maids and the servants and the field workers and—," I cut off angrily as I stomped up the stairs. It seemed everyone was being so unreasonable today! Honestly, what did being alone matter, when we had each other? We didn't need complete aloneness to talk about things! What was there that we had to do that needed complete seclusion?

I avoided the answer as I went back into the group bed and angrily plopped down on my bed. I lay face down into the pillow, legs spread carelessly and arms hanging of the edges. I heard footsteps, and I didn't look up at the person I knew was there. He stroked my hair very softly and murmured sweet nothings in my ear, gently hugging me.

I stayed quiet for a very long time, then muttered an "I'm sorry" very slowly. He said nothing and carried me back to his room, ignoring my protest. He laid me in bed and I sighed.

"You know I should be working right now?"

"You should sleep."

"I'm tired of sleeping. I want to do something."

He said nothing and began to hum, trying to lull me asleep.

But I didn't go to sleep.

Instead I stayed up a long time, closing my eyes so he thought I might be asleep.

"You're still awake, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I'm taking you to Alice, so she can play dress-up with you."

I groaned. Why was he so unreasonable?

**Bad ending, I know, but I wanted to hurry up and post this. Nexy chap will have their trip to the market because I really didn't feel like writing a whole lot. I know I've been gone for quite a bit, but LET ME EXPLAIN. There are finals. And I've been working on original projects. And I have other stories to update, so I've been and I will be taking time out to update that one. I also have new ideas for stories and I'm trying to get all my ideas out on Microsoft and OpenOffice before I post anything. I will update on this. I promise. But there are other stories in the archive . . . or something like that. **

**-Anna**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Hey everyone! I'm going to be filling two requests in this chap:**_

_**Request by a faithful reviewer for longer chapters**_

_**Result: Every chapter from now on will have at least 5,000 words and 9 pages.**_

_**Request by another faithful reviewer to hear through EPOV what the servants/others are thinking.**_

_**Result: In EPOV, I will include Edward telling the gist of what someone is thinking and their thought(s).**_

_**Oh . . . just a little note, in case people are wondering why Bella wasn't informed that Edward was coming with her and Alice to the market is because [Alice] wanted it to be a surprise.**_

_**And, there's something in this chapter that everyone has been waiting for. And no, it isn't EXACTLY the first thing that might come to your mind**_

_**Hope everyone enjoys! I REALLY love updating this story. Kinda mad right now, because I had like . . . 11 pages of work and then when I saved and shut down to go to bed, planning to continue on it the next day, MW DIDN'T HAVE MY WORK SAVED! I lost all of it. So I had to start over. :(**_

_**A little side note: I have some ideas for other stories . . . . but each time I try to at least write the first chapter, I read over it and don't like what I see. Don't know if it's cuz I'm lazy or because I have a new outlook on writing. : )**_

_**Anyway. enough blabber! On with the story, yes?**_

**Bella**

Dim colors swirled at the edges of my vision, and I heard gentle murmuring that sounded more like screams in the air. I opened my eyes a bit, and peered around. I smelled the same sweet scent I had for days—icy, smooth, sweet, almost candy sweet, but not sugary. No cologne could get the ingredients for the unique fragrance right.

_Edward, _ I thought as I felt my groggy eyes focusing on a window. There were two people outside it—both talking urgently and what looked like earnestly. They kept at it, back and forth, and it took me a moment to realize that I was not looking at a window, that the arguing figures were at the foot of the large bed I lay on.

I closed my eyes again, not wanting them to realize I was awake. Their frustrated whispers wafted to my ears, and I listened curiously, if not rightly.

"No, Alice, leave her to rest. She's probably tired. Leave her alone," Edward whispered, and I almost swore that I felt, if not saw him glance at me anxiously.

"Oh Edward, stop worrying. Bella and I have been planning this trip for half of forever, and so I am not about to let it be ruined because we get their late and miss all the good products and sales!"

"It will be no fun still if Bella is too tired to comprehend half of what is going on."

"Lucky us that you'll be there to hold her up and drag her off so that you're the only one that gets to talk to her, right Edward?" Alice accused. I was confused. What did she mean by "drag me off so you're the only one that gets to talk to her?" Edward wasn't that possessive, was he? Surely not . . . if he was, then he wouldn't let me be friends with Alice . . . or anyone else besides him.

"You know I wouldn't do that and purposely ruin your trip."

"You would if Bella showed even the slightest inkling of not paying attention to you while we were out!" Alice persisted. I still didn't understand. Edward was not coming with us, a fact that I deeply regretted, because I did not want to be away from him.

I wanted to be with him at all times, be a part of whatever he was doing, because it made me feel safe and loved . . . less vulnerable, because I _knew _Edward . . . not in his personality or soul period, but just with a sense of comforting familiarity that protected me from the unknown. But, without him . . . I felt so . . . weak, stupid, and alone. It was selfish to use him as something for protection, to use him, a person that really cared for me and showed me a love that I could not openly return, for my own needs.

"What Bella does is her choice," Edward replied evenly, and I felt my heart swelling with love and guilt.

"Sure it is. So you're saying that if Bella chose to kill herself, then you'd be handy dandy okay with it?"

"We're not discussing that!" Edward half yelled at his sister, which surprised me. Edward never raised his voice—as far as I knew of. Or maybe his voice held that soft, warm gentleness only around me. I now wondered how well I really knew Edward.

There was a silence after his exclamation, and I knew they were both waiting for some kind of response from me, to see if I had been awakened. It was wrong to lie, but I was tired of hearing their arguing about me and I decided to end it.

I gave a loud, literal groan and let my eyelids flutter, and I felt the _whoosh _of cold air before cold palms were on either side of my face; when I opened my eyes Edward's face was so near mine that I swore we were breathing the same air. I gasped in surprise and closed my eyes, startled by the very sudden intensity of his.

I opened them again and the intensity had been replaced by concern and . . . hunger, but not the normal sort of one that might make your stomach rumble. It was something I'd never seen before and couldn't identify. _The unknown. _It made me restless and uneasy, and I closed my eyes so I could hold off my worries and be normal for Edward.

"Bella," he murmured. "Are you okay? Are you feeling well?" I was barely coherent, and I gave an "Uh-hum," in reply.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Mmmm . . .," I breathed, feeling weak as his sweet breath whirled around my face. He sighed, and planted a kiss on my forehead. I moaned in frustration,

"It's time to get up, Bella!" Alice said cheerfully, suddenly grabbing my hand and tugging on my arm making my head snap up and my eyes open in irritation.

"Leave her alone, Alice! Keep that up and she'll have a concussion by the end of the afternoon." Edward muttered the last part, but Alice heard him and shot him a glare, fixing him with a pointed look that seemed to make him sullen, and Alice smiled smugly. I was confused at the fighting between brother and sister. Edward usually never fought with Alice. I felt guilty as I realized that I was the cause.

"No, it's okay," I told Edward and saw him give me a look that silenced me immediately. I was hurt at the angry look on his face as he looked at me, and I resisted the urge to sulk. _Smile, Bella, _I reminded myself. _Do not let anything ruin this trip for Alice. _

I did smile, at Alice, and she took it as fair encouragement and pulled me out of bed. I stumbled, and we both laughed. I kept my back turned to Edward so I wouldn't have to see the glare that I was sure was fixed there.

"Come on Bella!" Alice exclaimed eagerly and pulled me to her room. I didn't speak to Edward, deciding that maybe it'd be best not to further anger him even though I couldn't see what had made him angry in the first place. I did not stop to ask him, and I knew that I never would, because doing that would show him how hurt I was by it and I didn't want to do it.

I still had walls. Thin, invisible to both Edward and I might they be, but they were there. I knew why it was so hard for me to let Edward in, even after he'd declared his love for me and I'd admitted my love for him in return. It was because I was so used to pushing people away, to keeping my distance from anything that had the capability to hurt me again, that I didn't know how to pull closer, how to reach out now that I had the slightest desire to.

I didn't like it. I hated it. It felt like I was trapped in my own body, stuck in my own mind, hearing the love, seeing the affection that others gave me but not being able to communicate any in return because I didn't have the right functions, the right controls to. It was like being in a body where someone else controlled it, where you could see and hear what they did but didn't have the luxury of pressing the switches and pulling the levers to make things happen. I wonder what I would have to do to get the full version of the demo I had of myself.

Alice seemed oblivious to the trapped feeling I battled with and led me into her room.

"Ok, so first you should take a quick bath and then I can wash your hair in one of the sinks. After that, I'll let you soak your hands and wash your face while I go get the dress. Before you get dressed, I'll let you eat." Alice, always the practical one. Eat before you get dressed, so you won't mess up your dress. "And then, after you finish eating and you're dressed, I'll do your hair. Then I can let Edward come in and give a few mushy romantic comments on your attire, and we can leave. Sound good?"

_No, _I wanted to say. _Because Edward isn't coming with us. _But instead, I smiled and nodded, knowing that Alice was being reasonable, and because it did sound like a pretty good plan. Alice loaned me a black dress for me to wear while she got me ready, and I went off to the bathroom. I turned on the hot water and stepped in, closing my eyes before I let myself sink under the water.

I stayed like that for a while, and about a few minutes later I opened my eyes and peered up through the murky surface of the water—was it mineral? The vision was blurred and my eyes stung; soon tears mixed with the already salty water. I held my breath but then let it out in a whoosh of bubbles before submitting to the sting that the need for oxygen caused.

I did not drown myself. I came up to the surface within minutes, spluttering and shaking, blinking constantly so that I could remove the water from my eyes. I coughed up water and breathed heavily, trying to remove the sting of depression and guilt that my body morphed into the raw ache of my throat and the water in my lungs.

And a realization slapped me in the face—or maybe it was just my father's hand, always dragging me down into darkness when I saw light. Though I had not drowned myself . . . I had wanted to. I had desired it so badly that it almost hurt. And the only thing stopping me was remembering the face of my mother, of my grandmother, of Josie and Catherine and all my other household friends, of Alice, the almost-sister that I have to admit that I always wanted, and Edward . . .

_My Edward. _

His face was the only thing that gave me the strength to lift myself from the water, to fight the blackness that tried to drag me down—the blackness that I wanted to drag me down.

I bathed quickly, running hands over my scars without looking at them for fear of another suicide attempt or a full breakdown. I dressed quickly after that, grateful that the dress Alice had loaned me had long sleeves and covered my legs down to my knee, where below the scars looked like coincidental or normal breaks and scabs caused by accidents.

When I got back to Alice's room, still shaken and depressed, she was smiling. But that faded into concern as she looked over my appearance. Clearly, I looked horrible—my eyes still stung and that meant that they were red from salt and tears, which were really the same thing. My skin had taken on the white, almost gray pallor it always did when I was underwater.

"Bella . . . are you okay?"

"Sure, Alice." The lie burned on my tongue. "I'm . . . feeling wonderful. I'm really looking forward to the trip." _Lie, lie, lie!_

Alice smiled, but I still saw the tinge of worry in her eyes.

"Really, Alice, I'm fine," I tried to convince her, but my voice swayed. I didn't wait for her response but instead sat in her chair and closed my eyes,

Sure. I was fine.

**Edward**

I glared at Bella, furious. She had taken _Alice's_ side. I was perhaps not so angry about that; it was good for Bella to be friends with Alice, but I suppose I did want Bella to look at me and smile, to agree with me. Jealousy bit away at me, and I struggled not to simply pluck Bella away from Alice like a feather from a chicken.

Bella did not look at me as she and Alice walked out the room, and I heard Alice's thoughts gloating.

_Ha, ha Bella is on my side ! _She teased, and I felt like choking the pixie—and then kidnapping Bella, of course. I sighed as they left and quietly shut the door behind them, going to lie on my bed. A sight on the desk across the room caught my eye, and I got up to examine it.

It was a sheet of paper, filled with my neat cursive writing. Under that were a few wobbly marks—as if someone were attempting to copy the letters I had written. I wondered when Bella had done it. Maybe sometime after her first lesson; perhaps she'd borrowed a pencil and had tried her hand at it but had become too frustrated with her shaky writing to continue.

Speaking of that, I would have to resume the reading lessons as quickly as I could. I would've done it today—technically since Bella had agreed to be my . . . personal companion (I didn't dare say _personal maid_; it made her sound like a piece of property in a way I did not like) that meant that even on Saturdays she would be with me, but since today was her off day that meant she was free to do as she pleased.

It wasn't that I wanted to deny her her freedom, it was just that I wanted her to spend it primarily with me. I wasn't fair to complain because I would be at the market with them and therefore I would see Bella, but not under the privacy I wanted.

Bella went into the bathroom and the water began to run. I listened intently. feeling myself tense as if to run to her rescue. Ha! I was quite sure that if Bella knew what I was that she would run like hell had come out of the ground and was chasing her. Which, it was.

The water stopped, and I didn't hear anything for a few minutes except for Bella's heartbeat—but no breathing.

How was that possible, when her heartbeat was the very thing that was supposed to keep her breathing?

Unless . . . .

Unless she were underwater. Holding her breath.

I stood up in one movement, not sure what I was going to do. My first impulse was to go inside the bathroom and tug Bella out, and that was the impulse I was about to go with.

_Don't, Edward! Bella is fine. I can still see her going to the market with me. That means she's still going to be alive!—Alice_

I hesitated ,debating whether or not to go against her, but Alice showed me her vision. It was of Bella walking with Alice, pointing out all the different booths and attractions with a bright smile on her face that didn't show even the slightest hint of depression.

And, honestly, how could one trying to kill herself (how else would Bella drown; I knew from her actions that she was quite awake and though her reflexes may not have been those of a vampire she did seem to have quick reactions) look that happy in a vision that would be only two hours later?

**Bella**

Alice got a bowl of hot water and washed my hair, scrubbing all the dirt out of it. It took a full two bulls to get it clean, to remove the dandruff and knots and clumps of dirt—I was surprised; hadn't that all washed away in the bath tub?

After she was done washing my hair, she dried it with a towel, leaving it still slightly damp. She combed it, trying her best to get through the strong, natural waves and curls that still remained even when it was wet, and then fixed it in a loose bun. She moved on to my face, making me close my eyes while the pressed a hot rag over my eyes, on my forehead and over my cheeks.

I remained silent, thinking. I wondered what would have happened if I had killed myself. Though it was over, though it hadn't happened, I couldn't get over it. Where had it come, the depression?

I knew the answer, of course. Depression was something I was born with. It wasn't always inside my mind, but it _was!_ It waited like storm clouds in the distance of a blue sky, lurked behind the horizon of my thoughts like the sunset. It was impossible to fully remove; and as a result, while I tried to think on the positive side of things, I couldn't help fully interpreting the negative what-ifs as well.

Alice seemed to be thinking. Then she began the questions.

"So Bella . . . how is it with you and Edward?" I had a sense that she already knew. Why wouldn't Edward share that with his sister? And why else did Alice seem to be working so hard to make Edward jealous?

I didn't know if I should tell her. I really didn't want to. But, I didn't have the remote control to control my body, so the words were out my mouth before I really had a say in them.

"It's wonderful. I really like him." Not true. I didn't like Edward. Not at all. I loved him. "He likes me too, I think. I feel great when I'm with him, like I'm at peace with the world."

"Awww! So cute! Edward and Bella are dating!" Did I just hear a snarl? "So, tell me everything! How much do you like Edward?"

"Um . . . do I have to answer that?"

"Please Bella! I promise I won't tell Edward!" Ha! I'd bet Edward had some kind of never-heard-of-sound device that he used right now to track our entire conversation!

"Well . . . I like him a lot."

"Oh, please Bella! Details!"

"Uh . . . I don't know what you mean."

"Do you want to kiss him?"

"What?"

"Do you?"

"I'm not sure I should answer that."

"Please! We all imagine it—I mean, we all don't imagine kissing Edward, but we all imagine kissing someone we really, really like."

"I guess I do. I don't know."

"How wouldn't you know?"

"It's not a yes or no thing, for me. It's not that simple for me."

"Do you want to go on another date with him?"

"Sure . . . "

"When?"

"I don't know . . . .," I murmured. I was silent after that, and Alice seemed sulky.

She got two bowls of hot water and let me soak my hands. I washed my face with the cloth and rested my hands in the water, just as she came back holding the dress in her hands. She put it in the bed and then rushed out the room only to return a few minutes later with a silver tray full of food.

"Alice . . . what?" I asked, dumbfoundedly motioning towards the tray bursting with food. She shrugged.

"_Edward,_" she said as if it were perfect explanation. I laughed.

"He's deluded himself into believing that you're horribly sick and weak and need the best care possible. He really is a drama king. I don't see how you stand him." I laughed again. Strangely, the picture in my head of Edward when I did this was one where he was gripping his hair by the roots, about to pull it out.

"I guess that's one of his endearing qualities," I said as I took a bite full of egg. She laughed. I continued eating, and when I was full (after digesting less than half the tray) she made me change into the dress. I slipped it on, tugging the sleeves into the right place and smoothing out the skirt. It hung off of me awkwardly, and I winced.

When my hair was dry, Alice fixed into a neat braided bun with neater, curled strands hanging down over my forehead and from the back, trailing down my back.

"You look wonderful, Bella!" Alice told me, beaming. I nodded as she went to go get Edward. I looked down at my lap and fought off tears of depression and anger—at myself, like always. Why couldn't I just be happy and perfect like everyone else? Why couldn't I try to live a normal life and fit in? Did I really have to keep blaming my father for everything _I _did wrong?

I choked back a sob and shook my head, determined not to cry. Alice would see. And Edward would ask . . . no, I couldn't cry. But I felt the expression on my face. It wasn't happy, it wasn't neutral, it wasn't even shallowly distressed. Not right. Not good enough.

"Bella, what's wrong? Why do you look so sad?" Alice came in and chirped. I shook my head sadly.

"Nothing, Alice," I said. My voice sounded horribly sad and hopeless, even to me. Was that bad? Was it normal to hear your emotions in your voice? Fear and worry pulsed inside of me, and I was worried that at any moment someone would jump out at me and scream "Fraud!" at the top of their lungs for all the world to hear. But no one did. And I was relieved, just for a second before Edward walked in and saw my face.

"Bella? What's wrong, sweetheart?" he leaned down and stared at me. I went ghost white at his use of the word "sweetheart" . . . and then beet red—with pleasure, embarrassment, and slight guilt. Did he not know his sister was standing not two feet away? But she probably already guessed . . .

"Nothing. I'm fine." My voice cracked.

"You always say that. Tell me the truth."

"I'm just a little sleepy, that's all." Half true. This depression rolled over me like a haze and gave me the vision of a groggy person.

"See, Alice? I told you that you shouldn't have woken her so early."

"Right," But Alice stared at me, and I knew that she knew something was wrong.

I shook my head, as if just shaking out my hair, and plastered on a smile.

Breathe, Smile.

"You're beautiful. As always, my sweet angel." I blushed again. He kissed me on my cheek and was pleased when my scent became stronger, because he gave me a crooked smile and chuckled/

"Thank you. Well . . . Alice and I are going to get going now."

"Yep! I'm just going to go put on my dress." Alice left, and something in Edward's expression changed. Her pulled me up, and I stumbled, startled. His arms wrapped around my waist to steady me and lingered there. I didn't mind of course.

"Bella, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. Just feeling a bit strange is all. I'm fine. Maybe I just need to get some more sleep when we get back."

"We don't have to go now, Bella. You can stay here—" I shook my head.

"Why not?"

"Because Alice has been planning this trip for a while. And she's so excited. It'll make her happy."

"But Bella, what's going to make _you_ happy?"

"Making Alice happy. Because she's my best friend."

"Alright." But his eyes were still displeased, and I looked down to avoid his gaze. He pulled my face back up and stared into my eyes for a long moment.

"I love you, Bella."

"Um . . . I—I love you too."

"Do you," he murmured, and I got the sense that I wasn't supposed to hear—and oh, it broke my heart! My face crumpled for a moment before I straightened it out and blocked out the tears that were twisting my face and felt like so much pressure in my eyes. Alice would be mad if I messed my make-up up. I couldn't cry.

I never could.

I choked back a wail and untangled myself from Edward embrace, deciding to go find Alice and tell her I was ready to go. I didn't have enough left in me to turn back to Edward, and I didn't have enough in me to answer him when he called my name.

"Bella, are you ready to go?"

"Yes."

And so we left. Edward looked like he might kill himself, and I gave him a hug and told him I loved him before we left to try to fix some of the damage I'd done on his heart. Too bad that I loved company to my misery.

We were using the same carriage that I had been taken here in, and I smiled at the horses, who shook out their manes at me and gave a long whinny. I ran my hands through their blonde manes and they seemed proud, standing up high and tilting their heads back. I could swear that they puffed out their chests.

"Arrogant, aren't they?" Alice said, giggling. I nodded.

"Alright, let us go."

"Right." We climbed in and the carriage began to move. I looked out the window, barely aware of the picture of the gardens going by. I was thinking again, and the rocky connection between myself and Edward today made me remember. Or was it my suicide attempt? Hmm . . .

"_Bella!" my mother called, laughing as I toddled after her. I watched the bees buzzing by her in fascination, staring up at the flowers that grew tall and clumped around each other, reaching my hands out to touch each one. My mother watched me with a smile on her face._

"_Someday this garden's going to be yours, baby. I'll have to teach you how to take care of each flower. It's so wonderful, watching things bloom. I love the colors. And you will, too. I don't think there's anyone who can walk by colorful flowers and not smile." I smiled, and dimples appeared on her cheek as her grin grew._

_I swatted at bees, occasionally getting stung and crying but never going inside. I wanted to stay out and watch my mother all day. The air seemed lazy, drifting by in little doodles of breeze and yawning in mugginess. Insects scuttled around on the ground, and a few of them seemed to glare up at me, as if saying "Excuse me, bigfoot!"_

_I looked down at them and laughed, and they hurried away. My mother watered all the flowers, talking endlessly and cheerfully, looking as if she could do nothing but tell me of each flower and still be happy._

_And then my father came outside._

_The way my father and mother looked at each other made me feel like I wasn't supposed to be looking. My mother froze for a second, and then her face broke into one of such genuine happiness that it made her glow. She smiled widely, dropping her tools and skipping over to my father. _

_His face transformed, too. It seemed like he didn't even see anything else but her as he ran to her and hugged her for no apparent reason but a ground-breaking love. She laughed and hugged him back, giving him a long kiss on the lips. He smiled widely, too, and it accentuated the crinkles around his eyes and his mustache. He leaned down and dipped her, still kissing._

"_Not in front of Bella, Charlie. We wouldn't want to taint her eyes." They both laughed._

"_Hey kiddo," my father said, the words sounding strange on his tongue. He looked sort of embarrassed and uncertain, and I guessed it was because he really didn't know about being a father or talking to children because he hadn't ever really been directly connected to any before me._

"_Hi Daddy!" I said, going over to hug him, but he made a quick spatula move and moved away so that I ran into my mother. She laughed and gave me a one armed hug. I didn't notice that my father looked relieved, and I didn't realize that he had moved away on purpose. I just thought I had accidentally run into my mother trying to hug my father._

"_Let's all go inside and have lunch, eh?" My mother suggested. My father nodded._

"_Lunch" was basically a time where my father talked only to my mother—as always. When I said something, he either glared at me or ignored me. The only times where he answered were when my mother told him I had said something. I just thought I never said it loud enough._

_My father never played with me. He never listened to me while I told him about my dolls, he never seemed to hear when I told him of my childish problems. And it broke my heart sometimes, but I was still convinced that he loved me. And I was so stupid. I still loved him and forgave him, over and over and over again._

_Charlie never took me out, he never got me presents for my birthday or ever, he never bought me pretty dresses or complimented me on anything or told me I was right, like other fathers did their little girls. And, every so often, a thought flickered through my head._

_Would Charlie have loved me better, like I loved him, if I were a son?_

_And then I would tell myself that I was wrong, tell myself that I was just hurt, that it wouldn't even matter later._

_But it always would, and I knew it._

_I tasted it in my own tears._

And now, I realized something.

I treated myself just like how my father treated me.

I never made decisions on my own, I never spoke up for myself if I could help it, I always worked to make other people happy but couldn't seem to do—or know—what would make _me _happy, didn't show myself or anyone else any real love, didn't express my feelings, and never told anyone what was on my mind.

The very things my father had conditioned me to—or not to do, rather—as a child.

I could fairly and honestly say that I was tired of it. I was _so_ tired of flitting by in life and not even knowing my own feelings! I was sick of letting other people decided what I would do and when I would do it! I was sick of being sick and tired! I wanted to . . .

Well, I didn't know what I wanted to do, maybe I hadn't for a long time. But I didn't want this!

In fact, maybe the first thing I'd start doing for myself was finding what I wanted to do—and doing it.

Of course the position I was out in society didn't really permit me to the wide range of opportunities that people like Alice and Edward and their family had, but still—there were other ways.

Yes, I decided. There was reading. So many books! I could finish learning to read from Edward's wonderful teaching sessions, and learn to write after that, and then maybe I could ask him to further assist me with arithmetic.

And I would research! Surely there were books out there providing information for people like me? Providing interesting facts, positions to be filled, things to pursue. Yes.

And . . . well . . . I didn't know what I might do after I found out what I wanted to do (for I might not be free when I did) but at least I could try!

Yes, I decided. I would _try_.

Alice gave directions to the footman to stop a few minutes later, and eagerly climbed down from the carriage without awaiting assistance. I laughed and followed her lead. Her eyes went out of ocus for a few minutes, and then she grinned.

"Come on Bella! Let's go!"

The market was a huge city of booths, lights and people, some exotically dressed, some wearing poofy and expensive looking fabrics—just for show; the weather was too hot to require the thickness of layers they wore, and the market certainly was not a place nor event to call for such fanciful shows. The market seemed less like a place to buy things and more of a place for the most socially elite, of the diversity of the county to gather and show off. It made my hold my back straighter, head higher, and smile wider. Just because I wasn't in the same class as them didn't mean I didn't have right to be here.

Alice found several booths that sold indulgencies and rare-finds like spices, silks, jewels and sometimes, rarely and on the much expensive side: gold. Alice looked at everything and didn't find not one booth with something she didn't like and buy.

"Oh! Bella, look! Isn't this dress wonderful? And so soft!" Alice squealed as she showed me a knee length deep blue dress with a wide band under the bosom and a slightly shirred skirt. It was soft, and smooth, and I believed it possibility to be made of silk.

"It's good."

"I'm buying it for you!"

"Alice, no . . .," I said.

"Yes! It's perfect! Edward loves blue on you. And I couldn't well buy it for myself; short people do not wear short things. And I am quite put out with Rosalie right now; and all the more she despises blue. And you're my best friend their every was! I'm buying it!" And she turned to the seller without waiting for my response, presented her coins and then turned and beamed at me after she'd bought the dress.

"I'm sure it'll look great on you! Maybe as a night dress, though . . .," she trailed off, obviously debating. I sighed.

We went to another dress booth, where Alice got a long, elegant chestnut brown dress for me with swirls of gold and yellow going in a pattern down the front, back and sleeves. Then she got me another deep blue dress, this one was long and had a silver belt around the bosom and a jacket.

"Ok, that's it Alice. No more dresses for me."

"Please Bella! These colors will look so great on you! And Edward will love them!" At the mention of Edward I blushed and then gave in. If Edward liked it—well, I wouldn't mind wearing it! Alice dragged me to more booths, showing me all kinds of wonderful, extravagant things and buying anything I showed particular interest in.

"Ok . . . well, I see something at another booth that looks wonderful, so why don't you keep looking here? There's a whole bunch we haven't looked at. Oh, and if you get hungry there are lots of sellers offering food around here! Just come get me and we'll go find one. Alright, I'll be right back." She zoomed off and I smiled fondly.

I went back to looking at the scrolls of paintings and scripts, unrolling a few and gawking at their beautiful designs.

"Hey!" a deep, husky voice said, seeming right behind me. I didn't look up. There were a few other people in this booth he was surely talking to.

"Excuse me!" a finger tapped me in the back, and I turned. A sense of familiarly washed through me as I looked at the tall, handsome and russet skinned Indian boy who was smiling a mile wide at me. I remembered the hair, the eyes, the smile, the dimpled cleft chin . . .

"Jacob?"

"Bella?" he said, eyebrows shooting up. I dropped the scroll and pulled him into a big hug. He laughed and hugged me back, and then we jumped around like little kids.

"Who's that?" another familiar voice asked, and my smile faltered and went into shock when I saw Edward, testily looking at me and then Jacob and back with a murderous expression on his face . . . that matched the one on Jacob's.

Oh, hell.

_**Hmm, I planned for this to be way longer, but I got this idea at the last minute and decided to just end it there . . . yes, not much of a cliffy, but forgive me. I think this chapter is pretty good . . . what about you guys? Press the button below to tell me!**_


	19. AN

There is NO WAY that this can be happening to me. I refuse to believe that I really lost all that work that I did on chapter 19 because my fiancé spilled coke on my laptop keyboard and now it's seeped into all the critical parts below and ruined my computer, therefore making it impossible to gain access to my documents. I am in denial of the fact that I didn't have OLRF saved on a flash-drive or in one of the drafts in my yahoo-mail "drafts" folder.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Just when I was FINALLY getting somewhere and thinking "YES! I only need a few more scenes to write before I update!" I screwed my life up by allowing my fiancé (whom I'm dealing the silent treatment) to use my 800 dollar laptop. FML.

Now it's back to the drawing board. I'm cursing myself to the pits of hell for not preparing back-up for my laptop—I just lost ALL my documents, including those for PSMS. I suck.

Feel free to send techno Vikings with guns to my door. You don't need to warn me; I'll know why when I open the door.

: (((((((


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